Faust Chaos
by mcrshank
Summary: It's been a couple of months after Jennifer Blake's death & everything seems normal; of course, when could things stay normal in Beacon Hills? People start dying, something supernaturally new appears to be haunting the town, a new girl arrives to school, and suddenly it seems like the pack has to find a way to save Stiles. Will they be able to? {Alternate version of TW Season 3B}
1. Chapter 1: Pilot

It seemed everything had been able to go right, for once. Or as right as things could go after a couple of deaths and disappearances of a few people months back; and Deaton's warning words about the Nemeton calling forth dark forces of evil had turned out to be nothing but a dire and pointless warning so far, for there had been no deaths in the usually dangerous town of Beacon Hills, Callifornia. Or at least not murders; there'd been at _least _four suicides in the last two months. It was sad; and looking at the faces of some of the family members of the deceased and disappeared, whether dead at some point during the Jennifer ordeal or the recent suicides, on a daily basis thanks to the deeply low population of the town remained as a constant reminder of what had happened. It almost made anyone feel guilty for feeling even a little happy.

Or, maybe not anyone, but one spastic boy called Stiles Stilinski. It had appeared, as he'd looked around the quiet classroom full of people writing down on a notebook, that he was the only uneasy and somewhat angry person in the room. The worst part was that he had absolutely no idea why he felt the way he did. Nothing. It seemed as if that day he had, as they say, woken up on the wrong side of the bed, for he had absolutely no reason to be angry. Things in Beacon Hills were perfectly fine, Scott had actually even started on working on getting his old girlfriend, Allison, back (whether it'd work or not, Stiles didn't know, but hearing about it would definitely be fun for him), and, well, Lydia was now his girlfriend; something he'd wanted since longer than he dared admit. Everything had almost felt like things were too good to be true… Yet he knew knew how that usually went: if things seemed to good to be true, they probably were. Yet, still; regardless of that mental reminder there was absolutely no reason for his anger. So why was it there? What exactly could be happening in his head to make the sort of rage bubble within him? What logic hid behind it?

And, of course, the constant tapping coming from behind against the leg of his chair made everything worse, and a deep frustrated sigh had left his lips. "Do you mind?" He'd asked with his own version of a quiet scream as he turned around to look at the startled girl who thankfully had stopped tapping her foot against his chair as soon as he'd turned around. Her legs uncrossed and she sat a little straighter. "Thank you." Stiles said with a movement of his head before turning to look toward his own notes again; forcing himself to focus on his work and truly unable to understand what had him so fired up; which only made him even more angry. See the problem?

Well, that day he'd woken up wondering when things would go wrong; something he only realized two days later whilst looking at brands of the many possible options of potato chips in one of the three local supermarkets. He realized that he'd been thinking about his fear for things taking a wrong turn prior to his supposedly inexplicable anger. And why should he do that instead of enjoying whatever time he was allowed to enjoy the very strange peace in the town and the wonderful girl she now called his girlfriend?

Yet, as his eyes lifted from the many brands on the stand, that moment of joyful realization turned into one of the instances in which guilt decided to eat at him; for the mother of one of the guys that had so horribly been sacrificed months back was standing close beside him. The sorrow of her face became clear the moment her eyes met his during the smallest moments in such an intensity that it nearly made a hole in his chest; he knew what losing someone close to him felt like, because he'd lost a couple of friends, and his mother, though she wasn't exactly dead, yet he couldn't come close to imagining what it was like to lose a son or daughter. With guilt singing in his eyes, they lowered; in pretense at attempting to continue finding the proper snack for the movie day he'd planned on having, but his mind wasn't thinking about the crunchy hopefully cheesy deliciousness before him, not for a bit.

His throat cleared and his eyes lifted once more, attempting to look in the direction of the sorrow-filed lady once again; but what he found instead was the empty spot where she had been standing, and his girlfriend, Lydia, looking at something on her right, while her hand rested on a magazine on a stand on her left near the checkout line. In a strange motion, the guilt almost instantly washed away from Stiles' system and got replaced by relief. The mere reminder of the relief he'd felt daily at remembering that Lydia and most of his friends had survived the whole Darach ordeal; and, of course, soon after, the joy at remembering that the strawberry blonde was his girlfriend. "Lydia!" He called, watching her head instantly whip in his direction, making her hair fly around her like a beautiful curtain, before his eyes fell shortly to the snacks in front of him; he settled on taking three different bags of chips he'd been unsure of which to choose from, before he looked in the girl's direction once again and walked forth to stand by her.

What Stiles didn't know was that the very girl he was walking towards was suffering of the same realizations. She shifted her weight onto one of her feet once she allowed the smallest of smiles to light up her features; small because she'd seen the same woman Stiles had seen, walking away with the same tortured expression. People had been sacrificed not long ago, and more people had committed suicide, and she was standing there looking at fashion magazines while waiting for her turn to pay for her items as if nothing at all had happened. Instantly, as if by a reaction to her thoughts, Lydia's hand lifted to touch her neck, where once upon a time there had been a bruise of a horrible red line across it, where Jennifer Blake had attempted to strangle her. She'd survived, and she felt guilty for it. A reverie of which she was broken off the moment she realized Stiles had asked her something. "Sorry." She said, forcing a smile onto her perfectly lip stick'd lips. "What did you say?"

In all honestly, Stiles would have felt offended, but what he guessed to be Lydia's unconscious movements added with the manner in which she'd been staring off in the direction opposite to what her hands had rested on, plus the expression that crossed her features in mirror of what he guessed to be his own previous grimace, had the young boy simply nodding in what he hoped to be understanding. "You too, huh?" He inquired with a soft shake of his head, his eyes shifting and his head turning in the direction Lydia had been looking off on and seeing nothing out of the ordinary before turning his head to look into Lydia's gentle eyes once again.

Stiles wasn't surprised when Lydia's head bobbed in a confirming nod. "Yeah." She admitted, looking away from her boyfriend to start placing her picked out items from the cart to the band for the cashier to check off. "I feel like I shouldn't be here right now. People died, and…" She frowned, looking up into Stiles' eyes once again before forcing herself to whisper. "All I have is the memory of that bruise around my neck." And she couldn't help it, at that moment, all she could feel was guilt over the thought of _What would have happened if I just could have found the bodies before the people died?_

"Hey, Lydia." Stiles called, his head shaking a couple of times while his hand reached to take Lydia's own from their position near her neck, that she hadn't realized she'd even done until he'd done that, and lacing their fingers together whilst forbidding his eyes to look away from hers. "Look, it'd be really stupid of me to tell you not to feel this way." _Because I feel the exact same, _he completed in his head. "But if you're set on thinking about the people who died, maybe you should try thinking about the ones that are alive because of what—… happened." He'd been close to saying _because of what we did, _but in all truthfulness, the cashier girl who was working on Lydia's items had already sent them a look; one he decided to be cautious of and ignore. "Who knows how many more people would have died otherwise." He finished, allowing the pad of the thumb of the hand that held hers graze against the skin of Lydia's own.

She solely nodded, squeezing his hand. "Yeah, you're right." She simply stated, quickly letting go of his hand so she could fish out the credit card she was supposed to use to pay off her items. And she remained quiet, the haunted look remained across her features, for as long as she gathered her bags and clearly stood near to wait for Stiles to finish his shopping; and while he observed her, he realized her demeanour screamed that she wasn't done speaking. So he paid, actually attempted a little polite smile toward the cashier girl, and then hurried on a stumble to Lydia's side; who, as soon as they were out of hearing shot and away from the store on route to the parking lot, decided to whisper in his direction once again. "I know we saved many people. But I can't help feeling like if I'd done something, if I _knew _how this whole... _Banshee _thing works, maybe we would have been able to save everyone."

Those words alone made Stiles' forehead adorn with a little frown; quite surprised at the sincerity of her words and suddenly catching her arm once again, gently as to not make her drop her bags, and making her stop somewhere near the first row of cars in the parking lot. "I think I've read many books and comics, watched many movies and shows, and lived through enough to be able to know that no matter what you do you _can't _save everyone." He simply confessed; watching the emotions play in Lydia's features, sadness, guilt, frustration even. "But we did try," he continued, watching as her eyes rolled shortly and she even attempted to turn away. "And I know that's not enough, trust me. I _know _it isn't. But it's going to have to do, because we can't go back in time and change things, so we're going to have to try to be okay with what we _achieved." _He paused before he attempted one of his shots at light humour to soften his girlfriend's mood. "Unfortunately Gallifray isn't real, so no time machines have been discovered yet." He spoke the words with the smallest of trying smiles in a _very _geeky attempt at making Lydia smile.

Which, by the momentary confusion that crossed her features that were followed by the smallest of wondering smiles, Stiles seemed to have accomplished. "Galli-what now?" She wondered, her head tilting shortly as if the explanation to her confusion were printed in his features and he could read it solely by looking at his face in a different angle.

Of course, Stiles sighed. He'd forever be disappointed in the many things his friends (and girlfriend) seemed to be absolutely in the dark about; awesome things. Things he liked. "It's from a TV show." He admitted, shaking his head shortly.

"Right." Lydia smiled, shaking her head and genuinely thinking Stiles was the most adorable thing... in a very hot way. Not that she'd tell him that; if she did she'd never hear the end of it. Instead, she decided to speak something else. "You're odd." She admitted with an affectionate tone. "But you're still right; we can't go back in time." And only then did she allow her eyes to look into his own. "So I guess I'll just have to live the 'right now'"

"That's right." Stiles nodded; regardless of the light weight against his chest. He instantly realised that what he'd spoken had been true: what would the people at Beacon Hills do but attempt to live their lives as best as they could for as long as they could? This time his eyes simply refused to move from hers. "And _right now,_" he started with a grin, "I've got a movie day planned. Wanna join me?" He asked, making the one hand that held onto the bags with his purchased snacks shake a bit so the sound of the contents echoed around them both. "I've got snacks!"

Lydia's eyes rolled once again, yet the smile across her lips refused to dissipate before she simply shrugged. "Yeah, sure. That'd be nice." She agreed, finding her boyfriend's mood somewhat contagious the moment a huge elated smile crossed his kissable pink lips. "But no Star Wars." And then she turned around before she could see the somewhat disappointed features that shifted in his face at her words.

She may not have known it, but he'd been planning to watch all the Star Wars films in a row.

_**~A few hours later, in a house somewhere in Beacon Hills~**_

The pen tapped gently against the desk as Jordan Wright's eyes scanned the page in front of him; though he was a good student, or as good as he could be, he had never been good at Biology. Sure, he was a member of the Lacrosse team, and he played in the school orchestra, and he _may _or may not be the favourite of a few of his teachers, but that didn't mean his brain allowed him much room for uninteresting things like the reason behind the reproduction of cells; _Or is that philosophy? _

But he was good; mainly because he didn't exactly seem to find the point to school, so he flew past it and allowed his logical mind to get the best for, and of him; so he finished every school assignment because he had to, or replied and participated because it was what was expected of him so that he could get a sheet of paper that said Jordan was qualified enough to go to a valuable University, so he could get _yet _another paper that said he could work as a tax adviser and maybe make more money that he could count to be able to stop working and become able to open some sort of kitchen business he'd actually enjoy running.

So, naturally, there he was, sitting at home with his mum's NSYNC playing loudly from the speakers downstairs as she occupied herself with her latest hobby; the words to "Bye, Bye" weren't helping Jordan's concentration any, and the reality of atoms and cells simply flew past him in words that he simply couldn't understand, nor focus on. "MOM?" He called loudly with a blank expression, staring at the text book in front of him as if that alone were to give him the answers he searched for. "MOOOOOOOOOOOOM!" He called again, this time raising his eyes from the words on the textbook to look toward the door of his room. The volume of the music lowered, and Jordan nearly sighed in relief.

"YOU CALLED?!" Came his mother's voice from downstairs in a tone more happy and amused than annoyed. Something that almost confused Jordan.

"YEAH, COULD YOU PLEASE KEEP IT DOWN?" He wondered; and it had been as if the blank tone of his words hadn't helped his case, because not even a minute later, his mother's voice was tooting loudly in reply.

"NO." _Oh, okay. _He thought while sighing in frustration and dropping the pen in the middle of his open text book the moment the volume of the music rose once again.

"Oh my god." Jordan's eyes rolled, and with no other choice, he stood up from the chair that, in his opinion, was bound to make his ass look like a Tylenol pill if he continued to sit there for as long as it had been. Yet, as he made his way toward the closed door, another loud sound echoed in the room, right behind him: his window opening. His hand paused on the door knob and his whole body turned to look at the now ajar window, a brow lifting in confusion as he looked around his room. There was no wind; and even if there had been, his window had a handle that was locked, or _had _been locked. "How the hell...?" He whispered in confusion.

Annoyed, Jordan walked toward the open nuisance with a determined pace; his head poked out of the window in search of the source of it's opening, yet, when he found nothing, his eyes decided to roll once again. One of his hands lifted once his frame stood upright so he could close the window once again in order for the slightly chilly winter air to not make his room any colder than it already was; and since the music was still playing as loudly as his mother dared make it without bothering the neighbours (but apparently she was okay with bothering _him), _Jordan decided to turn around again to try to talk some sense into his mother so she would let him do his homework in a silent peace. Yet, when he was about to turn around and away from the window, he noticed a strange grey and black blob of... _something _near his reflection on the now closed glass. "What the hell?" He heard himself saying before he turned quick to face the source of the strange reflection. It was smoke. And it hovered in front of the young man for a couple of curious seconds.

And then it charged in his direction.

The last thing Jordan could remember was the sound of his own scream being muffled with the sounds of his own throat gagging and reacting to the smoke's intake to his body before everything went black.

**To Be Continued.**


	2. Chapter 2: Lost His Mind

The idea of 'pop quizzes' always preoccupied Stiles Stilinski; though, strangely enough, the one taking place at that very moment was all about the homework he'd busted his head open completing exactly the Monday before. Even then, as he thought of the answers, he realized he was nervous; maybe a little more nervous than what a little fifteen question quiz should make him. So much, in fact, that he found himself flinching when the tip of his pencil broke. He nearly sighed in frustration, but he remembered the pencil that was so neatly tucked away on the side of his backpack.

As he reached for the other pencil, Stiles allowed his eyes to wonder; they looked around at the class full of concentrating students, some nearly as frustrated as Stiles had been, and some, like Lydia Martin, that didn't even seem to be thinking twice about the answers. Of course, his girlfriend was naturally smart, so he wasn't at all surprised.

Stiles' head automatically whipped to the front of the classroom when out of the corner of his eye he could swear he'd seen something black move on the top of the wall; yet, when he looked, there had been noting there. He sighed and forced his eyes to return to his quiz with his brand new pencil in hand. Were his nerves so high that he was starting to see things? _Way to go, Stiles. _He thought to himself. _Way to go. _

What felt like hours later, but had truly only been minutes, the very last question of the quiz had been finally answered, and Stiles nearly sighed in relief and sat back on his chair in triumph; and he was just about to do that, when out of the corner of his eye he saw the same strangely dark moving thing on the upper side of the front wall. Yet, once again, just like the time before, when his eyes fully focused on the place where he could have sworn he'd seen the black thing, there was nothing. With a frown, his eyes fell toward his completed test, and the already deep frown became more prominent as he leaned slightly closer to the paper; the words _'It's your turn to suffer' _were printed on the paper with broken black ink as if it were one of the questions on the test, and Stiles sat back quickly when he finished reading as such. "What the…" He whispered before he looked around the room again, wondering if anyone around him had the same thing in their own test. _Please, _he thought, for he knew it was completely stupid and impossible; no one, not his best friend, Scott, not Isaac, nor Lydia were reacting badly at their own test. So, of course, Stiles forced his eyes to return to the paper on his desk; only when he did, he noticed the letters were bigger this time; bolder. '_**IT'S YOUR TURN, STILES!'**_ "Whoa!" The wide eyed boy flinched back on his chair so far that he didn't even realize he'd managed to make it to the very edge of the seat until he ended up falling in a flailing mess toward the floor. _What the fuck!?_ He wondered; the words that had been printed on the test were then completely printed inside his mind; yet, when his eyes saw the fallen test on the floor beside him, the words he'd previously seen were simply gone. It looked completely normal.

So, what? He was crazy now?

His eyes shifted from one side of the room to the other; amused expressions adorned every single visage that looked in Stiles' direction, and he had to force himself to grin sheepishly as the embarrassment simply became overclouded by the confusion. The voice of the unamused teacher reached his ringing ears as if from a faraway tunnel, but his eyes quickly shifted to look in his direction as he forced his frame to stand up in a wildly quick move. "What?" Stiles asked, frowning.

"I asked if this was your strange way of telling me you were done with your test, Mr. Stilinski." The teacher repeated with a halfway angry expression, looking at the young man with scolding eyes and his hands softly placed on the desk.

Stiles' eyes blinked a couple of times before they finally glanced toward his filled test; they narrowed as if that alone were to make the words he'd seen printed before shining on the brand filled out paper, but there was nothing but the lame Chemistry questions. "Uh… no." Stiles finally replied, lifting his eyes to look at the teacher still on his desk. "I mean, yes." The teacher's eyes pierced him completely, and soon Stiles realized what he'd just admitted to; it made a hand lift and his head shake. "No!" He heard everyone around him chuckling, "God, no, that's not what I meant." He frowned. "I mean, yes, I finished my test, but… that's not why I fell."

He couldn't understand what was happening, yet he simply forced himself to follow the teacher's instructions to hand him his test and exit the classroom. Yet, of course, at the feeling of two sets of eyes proving into his back more prominently than the rest, he looked in Lydia and Scott's direction. "I'll be…" And he motioned towards the door with his thumb.

"Dude, you okay?" Scott wondered, whilst Lydia only frowned on her seat. They were worried, Stiles could see that, and he wasn't surprised of it either. Everyone would just have seen his fall, but his friends would see his expression.

"Yeah." And then he forced himself to move; Stiles took his backpack and his finished test before heading toward the teacher's desk, leaving the paper on it, smiling at him as innocently as he dared to through his confusion, and finally leaving the classroom. His hand gripped onto one of the straps of his backpack almost as if his life depended on it, even as he forced himself to remain, leaning his back against the wall of the outside of the classroom he'd just exited from, to wait for Lydia to exit as well. A long sigh escaped his lips in short frustration. "What the hell is happening?" He wondered in a whisper as his one free hand lifted to allow soft digits to rub against his temple. Because this was not the first weird thing that happened to him in the past few months. _Am I actually losing my mind now? _

Inside the classroom it didn't take long for Scott and Lydia to decide they needed to go check on Stiles. "I'll go, I'm done my test already." Lydia quickly told him and stood before Scott could even reply; the truth was that she had been done her test ten minutes after the teacher had handed it out, yet she'd waited, as every student was supposed to do. So without further ado, Lydia rose from her seat, all of her things in hand, to give the teacher her filled sheet of paper. "There's only a couple of minutes left of class, can I—"

"Yes, go." The teacher told her before she even finished her words, motioning with his hand toward the classroom door, and making the strawberry blond haired girl smile the smallest of smiles before hurrying to exit the classroom.

She walked out the door and quite accidentally slammed it closed behind her; yet she didn't care, because not even seconds after the loud noise, she noticed her boyfriend leaning against the closest wall of the classroom; flinching as if the echo of the slamming door had broken him from some reverie. Lydia walked toward him. "Stiles?" She called, frowning gently as she attempted to search his eyes for the answer to her next question. "What's going on?"

Stiles had been about to speak before she worded her worries, but they shut him up with the wonder of whether to tell or not; sure, Lydia had been his friend for longer than she'd been his girlfriend, his partner in crime during all the supernatural strangeness that had haunted Beacon Hills. But who was to say that his confessing to having lost his sanity wouldn't make her want to look the other way? "Nothing." _Plus: Even in the wizardry world, seeing things isn't a good sign. _"I haven't slept very well," he admitted, though it wasn't at all a lie. "I just need loads of naps."

"Come on, Stiles." Lydia's eyes rolled; she'd been Stiles' friend long enough to know when something was _wrong; _not normal, out of the ordinary wrong. She also had logic on her side; the manner in which he'd fallen… she'd never admit it, but she was looking in his direction when the incident happened, she'd been able to see the look of horror that crossed his features. There was _something _going on. "You know you can tell me anything, what happened in there?"

Stiles' eyes studied Lydia as she nearly drilled a hole in the middle of his skull with her own, as always, knowing gaze; his lids blinked a couple of moments before his head shook. He looked down and took a breath, and when he decided to allow himself the opportunity to look in Lydia's direction again, he exhaled in a exasperated breath. "Look, I've been—" Just as he was about to break his own mental wall of dread to explain to her what was going on, the loud echo of the bell announcing a finished period tooted against the halls of the school; and just for a moment, Lydia Martin stopped being his focus point as he saw seas of people exiting classrooms. And then he finally looked at Lydia again. "I'll tell you." He expressed with the only kind of tone he felt he could make as of late: angry. "But not here." His hold on his backpack straps tightened considerably. "Let's go to mine, or yours; I don't want anyone to overhear."

Lydia frowned, her eyes studying his as if she truly were to find the answer to her questions solely by looking into his amber hues; but when she found nothing but inexplicable anger, she sighed. "Fine." She said, looking around at the plethora of people walking away toward their own classrooms. _Where is Scott?! _"I'll see you after school, then." And with no other word she turned around and walked away in the direction of her next class; wondering, second by second, if whatever period of peace they'd gotten after Jennifer Blake's death was finally coming to an end.

Stiles' brow furrowed as he watched his girlfriend walk away from him, yet he couldn't even force himself to move. The anger, the frustration at not being able to understand what was happening in his head nor around him, it was changing him in ways he couldn't understand; and it looked as if he'd hurt Lydia because of it. Which only made him the more angry.

In all truthfulness, the thought of sitting at another class to endure his own mind didn't seem appealing, so with a sigh and a shake of his head in personal disbelief at the manner in which he'd replied to a help-offering Lydia, Stiles turned around, walking in the opposite direction she had done. With only one destination in ming: the parking lot where his blue Jeep awaited him.

He thought; Stiles thought about the past few days from the moment he exited the school, he thought about his friends, his dad, his mother. Everything that he possibly could think of whilst always returning to darkened thoughts of the reality that was his present; deeply, soulfully. Yet, what felt like only seconds later, his head snapped to the side when a tapping sound awakened him from a deadly reverie. It was Lydia, right outside is Jeep's window; he frowned. How long had he been staring at nothing? How had he even gotten inside his jeep? How long had he been sitting in there with a hand extended to set the key in the ignition the way he realized he was doing? "Since we're going in the same direction and my car refused to start up, is it okay if I ride with you?" Lydia asked, making Stiles frown even more.

He blinked, head nodding even as he forced his throat to clear and his hand to finally force the key into place to shift in order to start the ignition. "Of course, come on in." He invited prior to reaching across the passenger seat to open the door for her; using the time in which she walked around the back of the Jeep to sit straight once again and lift both his hands to rub against his face.

It was a motion that wasn't lost for Lydia Martin as she settled herself into the familiar passenger seat in the blue Jeep. "Thanks." She looked in his direction for a moment prior to looking down at her feet, unsure of her boyfriend's mood. Her hands settled on her lap once she'd placed her bag beside her and the seat belt across her chest; she worried for him, for the way he frowned, for the strange look he'd given her when she'd tapped on his glass, from the silence that reigned the usually comfortable environment the moment the engine started and the Jeep started moving backwards. All that time, she worried.

And as she worried, Stiles noticed. He frowned, noticing the silence become heavy with unspoken words once he'd driven away from the school's parking lot; it was such a strange notion that before he even realized what he was doing, his right hand had fallen away from the wheel and toward one of Lydia's own in an attempt to lighten and comfort her mood; lacing their fingers together prior to lifting their hands in his direction so he could place a soft kiss at the back of her hand. "I'm sorry." He simply stated before lowering their hands and looking in her direction for a couple of seconds before paying attention to the road before him once again.

And though Lydia felt comforted shortly, she forced her head to shake in short reassurance. "No." She quickly worded. "No, don't be sorry. You don't have to tell me what's going on if you don't want to." Her grip on his hand tightened shortly, yet her eyes refused to move away from his; she wanted to know, but she didn't stop to think: What if _he _didn't want him to know?

"I never want to not tell you." He replied as if having read her thoughts; admitting such blindly before a short frustrated sigh escaped his lips once more. How could he do it? "I'm not angry for you asking what's wrong, I don't want to hide this." He nodded, keeping his eyes on the road. "I'm angry because I don't know how to explain it, or what _is _even happening." He finally said, just before returning the gentle squeeze to Lydia's hand and letting go so he could use both his hands to drive.

"What do you mean you don't know?" Lydia frowned, her head tilting shortly forward without stopping her looks in his direction; and just like that her worry returned. "Is there anything that causes you to get upset like this? Or do you get randomly mad?" She softly questioned, resting her suddenly free hand on top of Stiles' so he could continue driving even as she attempted to comfort him.

His eyes remained on the road, but when he felt her hand on his, Stiles couldn't help but feel slightly calmer. He needed to remind himself to never think Scott crazy for thinking of Allison as his rock, or anchor, ever again, for he suddenly felt as if Lydia were his. Stiles cleared his throat and shook his head shortly. "Both?" It sounded like a question, and yet another sigh escaped his lips before he spoke once again. "Look, at first I thought it was just me being a pessimist thinking I was going to lose you, or something bad was going to happen, but then I got angry for pointless little things, like… someone kicking my chair, or my dad getting home without the box of fries I'd asked him to get me." His head shook again, and he took advantage of the sudden red light to slow the car and look in Lydia's direction. "Then I blank out for small moments at a time, I…" He sighed somewhat loudly again. "I feel as if I were losing my mind."

To his last statement, Lydia quickly shook her head. "You're not losing your mind, Stiles." She solemnly stated seconds prior to start doubting her own utterance. _What if he is? _She wondered; _What if it's the darkness around Stiles' heart that Deaton spoke about? _Could she possibly help him through it? Could it possibly be like a Post Traumatic Stress Disorder?

It was a reverie that she didn't find herself stuck on for long, because soon after, Stiles was shaking his head, starting the movements of the car once again after a loud honk came from behind them. "Lydia," it sounded almost desperate. "I'm seeing things." He admitted, throwing a glance in her direction for only a second, "Black spots on the walls or in the corner of my room, things written on papers and signs that are _definitely _nor there; I can't tell if I'm awake or dreaming half of the time." Yet another exasperated breath escaped his lips and his head shook, he couldn't say anymore.

Lydia's concern had spiked through the roof, and she shook her head in the softest of motions as she processed everything he'd told her. It didn't sound good, obviously, it sounded terrifying, and though, for once, she felt glad she wasn't the only one seeing or hearing things, the satisfaction lasted only a few moments before the worry overpowered everything else. Not that she could very much show it. "Have you told Scott?" She asked, even if she already knew the answer before it even came.

"No." He admitted, and Lydia nodded; to say she wasn't surprised would be a lie. He'd told her before telling Scott? She should feel good, right? Why was she suddenly even more worried?

"Look," she started, clearing her throat shortly. "I don't know what's going on, but we'll figure it out." She stated. "All of us, you have to tell Scott, we can all figure it out." Watching Stiles, even as he slowly turned the car onto her street, Lydia pushed her fingers so they could laze with his even if from the back of his hand

Of course, Stiles didn't take long to twist his hand in hers so he could lift them both and press a soft kiss against the back of hers once again. "We will try." He voiced, as he single-handedly slowed his car to a messy stop in front of her house, quite unconvincingly, due to the fact that, for some reason as foreign as the reason for his anger, Stiles couldn't come close to believing there was a solution to his problem the way Lydia seemed to. But for his sake, and mostly hers, he had to believe there was.

Lydia solely nodded; using her free hand to hook in her bag's handle prior to opening the Jeep's door to exit it, yet before getting off she turned to look at Stiles once again. "Look, tell Scott, alright? And call me if you need anything." She requested, watching curiously and worriedly as Stiles' head bobbed in a nod; a motion she mirrored while she tightened her hold on Stiles' hand shortly prior to letting go and climbing down from the car.

Stiles felt guilty and worried the moment the door of his car closed and she saw Lydia starting to walk toward her front door; and as soon as she had started walking away he quickly moved across from the passenger seat again to quickly turn the handle to lower the window and call out in hearable tones. "Lydia!" He watched her turn around, and even though she smiled, Stiles could see the concern edging across her features.

"Yes?" She asked promptly, because Stiles had remained quiet.

He was going to thank her, he was going to tell her that she was right on thinking everything was going to be okay, that they'd all figure it out. He was going to comfort her; but no words could come. Instead, he felt a somewhat forced grin crossing his lips before he heard himself saying, "I'll bring your car over tonight."

Lydia frowned, blinking a couple of times in wonder over the strange silence that had come before those weird words, but all she could do was cross her arms against her chest, forcing herself to smile just like Stiles seemed to. "You don't have to do that." She admitted, wondering why such a dire topic felt wrong at that moment. "I can call a tow truck."

"No, I want to." Stiles simply admitted, nodding his head a few times, making the smile across his lips seem a little more genuine. "I'll take care of it."

Lydia scoffed a halfway amused breath, but nodded. "Okay." She allowed. "Thank you." She watched Stiles' grin turn into that satisfied expression where his lips turned into a little tight smiling line and his eyes shone with some sort of victory even for a few moments, before the window of his Jeep started rising again and the roaring of his engine started and slowly faded away.

The smile on Lydia's lips disappeared as soon as he was gone, and her steps simply led her away from the black gate and toward her front door; she unlocked it and walked inside quite automatically, moving straight up to her bedroom regardless of if she'd called out to her mother that she was home. She sat on her bed, with a seemingly permanent frown against her forehead whilst her mind went in overdrive at attempting to think of things that could be making Stiles feel the way he was.

She couldn't come up with anything, no scientific explanation, no strange disorder other than psychosis that could be making her boyfriend see things. Yet she was also quite aware of the supernatural air in the town; she'd heard murmurs, deadly threats whispered into her ear when no one was there. Could that be linked to Stiles? Could any of this be linked to the most recent suicide of one Beacon Hills High student Jordan Wright? Ugh; if only she could understand her own abilities; if only she could figure out a way to know how to use all of the voices to her advantage.

Unfortunately it wasn't a calculus problem; it was important and life threatening, and it made her nervous. It even made her angry; she wanted to understand herself, her power, her abilities. She needed to; but for the moment she simply couldn't think completely straight. All she could think of was Stiles, and how worried she suddenly was about him.

And she was scared.

**To Be Continued.**


	3. Chapter 3: The Old And The New

So Stiles Stilinski was late to class; he was late mainly because he'd suffered from horrible and heart wrenching nightmares basically all night long. And they all included the haunting black spots of smoke he'd been seeing everywhere as of late. It was a fact, things were halfway fine when out of nowhere he'd begin to think he saw something, but whenever he looked in its direction, it was gone.

Yet, the last sighting had been the day before; he'd been in the mall with his dad, getting a couple of clothes that the Sheriff had told him he truly should replace. And at one point he'd had to go into some formal shirts store for some Sheriff reason that he refused to explain to him; yet, Stiles, having seen a jewelry store right across from where his Dad had told him he needed to go, had told him to go ahead, for he wanted to look at some jewelry.

Sheriff had nodded, and knowing well his son would have no other reason to look at necklaces, rings and bracelets other than his girlfriend, Lydia, he gave the boy a bit of money to spend. So Stiles had gone to the store, and almost immediately found a very Lydia-like necklace with an L incrusted with some sort of shiny white stone and a cool-looking twist of red stones circling the L like a ribbon; something which, of course, Stiles ended up buying. Which had been fine, it'd all been normal, right?

Wrong. What concerned Stiles was that in the small amount of time he'd spent in the jeweler's he'd seen that black shadow on a corner of the store; only, this time, it didn't exactly disappear the moment the boy turned to see it like it had the other times. Stiles looked at it for what felt like an eternity as it floated and slowly left through the closest air vent as soon as the woman at the other side of the counter called Stiles' attention. Did it mean he wasn't hallucinating? Or did it mean that his sanity had been lost in much worse a level than he'd actually thought?

Whichever the right answer, Stiles was concerned; and that concern travelled into his subconscious in the form of nightmares. Nightmares that had made the boy late for school. And, as discretely as he was able to, Stiles slipped into the classroom with his backpack in his hand. Sitting behind Lydia, and beside Scott; yet, with Coach as a teacher, it was impossible to make a discrete late entrance. And that alone was enough to make the boy wonder if he should have let himself sleep at all.

Lydia looked back at Stiles the moment he sat behind her. Maybe she wouldn't exactly admit it by voice, but she'd been worried; it was rare when the boy was late to school, and when he _was _late it had something to do with the big bads that ran through the town. "Where were you?" She inquired, looking into his nearly red tired eyes before forcing herself to turn her head to look in the direction of the teacher. "Are you okay?" She whispered quickly, picking up her pen so she could attempt writing down what Coach was writing on the board, lest she got in trouble for worrying about her spastic boyfriend.

"What?" He asked, eyes blinking away at the tiredness that reigned over every single inch of his body as soon as Lydia's dulcet tones had reached his ears; his hands automatically reached into his backpack in search of the notebook that he was supposed to have brought to the class. "Oh, yeah." His head nodded almost as automatically as his other actions. "I'm fine." He lied, clearing his throat and smiling in his girlfriend's direction whilst his hands became busy with setting the first notebook he'd been able to reach for on the half desk in front of him.

_Are you? _She wanted to ask, but it was not the place, nor the time; she'd interrogate him during lunch, end of. So she smiled back at him, nodded, and returned to her note taking. Eventually the words from Coach went through her mind like repeated lessons that Lydia hardly paid attention to, her hands automatically scribbling onto the pages until the loud slam of a book brought every single eye in the classroom into a startled stare in Coach's direction as he spoke up. "Wake up, people! I know it's the first class of the day, but for Christ's sake, I don't come here just to entertain you, I want to be asleep too."

It amounted to a couple of chuckles from a few amused students, and a light roll of Lydia's eyes accompanied by a sideways smile; a smile that disappeared as soon as her kind orbs lowered to rest on the notebook where she could have _sworn _she'd been writing down notes from the lecture Coach was delivering. She hadn't been; Lydia's hand automatically let go of the writing utensil as her eyes focused on the outline of the tree she had long ago stopped drawing: the Nemeton. Only, this time, it was also adorned by black swirls of ink that pointed directly at the drawn tree like strange tornado-like arrows that made some sort of dread drain the colour of her cheeks.

It hadn't taken long for the one person who, even as tired as he was, was always aware of her to realize that something was wrong; the clinging of the falling pen had been enough to make Stiles look in her direction, and that second of awareness had been all he'd needed to notice her halfway frozen position on the chair. "Lydia?" He whispered, leaning somewhat closer against his desk in attempts at seeing the source of her frozen frame.

Before he could see a thing, though, one of the strawberry blonde's hands moved to snatch and rip away the page from her notebook; her hands twisting and crunching until the paper was nothing but a wrinkled ball. "Yes?" She asked, forcing a smile, keeping her voice low, for even in a whisper, it sounded shaken.

It was a fact Stiles didn't miss; his eyes almost instantly narrowed at their tone. The smile, her tone, the look on her eyes when she decided to turn around to face him for a couple of short seconds; he recognized it easily: it was the sort of look Lydia Martin used whenever there was something she didn't want to exactly share with the class, pardon the pun. His brow furrowed, and his lips were starting to part in order to say something, when the loud ringing of the bell echoed painfully; painfully for him due to the fact that lack of sleep gave him a headache.

People started standing; the noises of chairs scrapping against the floor and notebooks and books being tucked into backpacks filled the entire room. Stiles took the opportunity to blink his eyes a couple of times in attempt to push away the tiredness before speaking in Lydia's direction. "Can I talk to you for a sec?"

Her eyes refused to remain on him, instead they moved away and along as she placed her things inside her bag. "We've a class next, Stiles." She simply stated, highly aware of his quick movements as he set his notebook and pen inside his backpack prior to slipping a hand through one of its straps.

He had to fight the urge not to huff. "I'm aware of that; just for a moment?" He asked, attempting to not frown the moment Lydia simply started walking away from him. He followed, of course, not that he had any other option due to the fact that they both had to get out of that classroom, but once they were out the door, he reached a hand to hold her own in order to stop her. "Lydia." He called in an almost pleading tone, watching her hair float and fall against her shoulders again after the quick turn of her frame in surprise of his detainment.

It was then, while he held her hand, that he realized she was shaking.

He frowned, his eyes falling to the hand he held, senses sharpened due to the worry that beat at his insides all of a sudden. "Lydia, you're shaking." He stupidly stated, his eyes lifting to look into her own worried hues with a mirroring concern echoing in his own amber orbs.

Her eyes fell to his hand on hers, worry, and even fear scorching through her veins. Though a soft defeated sigh let her lips, a determined look crossing her gaze. "Fine." She said, shifting his hands in hers so she could easily hold his own prior to turning around and walking fast; pulling the tired boy along with decided fingers.

It was the start of a period, but Lydia Martin knew exactly what places were empty during the many periods at school; call it a necessity when her need for distractions had once been so dire. It was why she had had no problem or doubt upon leading Stiles to one of the few never-checked broom closets. Her eyes searched the crowd in hopes to find no one looking in their direction; and it wasn't until she had closed the door of that little closet and stood before Stiles, that she reached inside her bag to pull out the wrinkled piece of paper, smoothed it out and placed it against Stiles' chest.

His eyes fell to her hand, lifting his own to hold the paper she had placed against his frame. It was when his eyes fell on the drawing that he immediately understood the reason of her shakiness. "Wha—" He started.

"I don't know." Lydia interrupted, eyes attempting to study Stiles' features as he observed the sheet she had so frightfully ripped back in the classroom. "I didn't even know I was doing it, it's just like before."

Stiles' eyes fell to the paper again, his fingers attempting to smooth out every single inch of the paper as if more details hid in every corner. But there was no more, just the tree with the swirling tornadoes of ink; little swirls that brought forth the very memories that had stopped his sleep. "Lydia?" He whispered, silently wondering upon the connections that his haunted mind was making. "Is this the first one you've done, since…?" He didn't need to say the words; there was no way Lydia, him, or anyone in his group of friends would ever forget what had happened months prior that had to do with the tree in the paper his eyes seemed unable to look away from.

Almost instantly Lydia's head started shaking, and she didn't even think twice before taking the paper from Stiles' hands. Only then did his eyes meet hers. "I wish it was." She admitted as her hands very unceremoniously shoved the paper into her bag once again. "I've drawn it twice before this." She breathed, frowning and shaking her head, suddenly feeling almost trapped in that broom closet, though automatically reaching for his hand in attempts to relax herself by the comfort of his touch; something she'd never outwardly admit on needing, regardless of if it seemed obvious. "Do you think it means anything?"

He did; the connections in his mind scared him, but confused him as well. All this time he thought the smoke from his room, from the shop, that it had all been inside his mind. "I hope not." He simply admitted to her, using his one free hand to hold her one already grasping limb in both of his, caressing her skin gently in what he hoped to be a comforting manner. And he did hope, he hoped with all of his being that he was indeed crazy, that Lydia's drawings were nothing but the doodles of a troubled mind, regardless of if logically he knew better. He hoped; mostly because, if he was wrong, if his hope was wrongly placed, then the danger Deaton had said would come after what Scott, Allison and himself had gone through, had finally arrived.

As if broken from a reverie, Stiles nodded, allowing one of his trapping hands to lift so it could rest at the back of her neck while the other remained holding her own. He leaned closer, noticing the distressed look that had taken home on her features, and pressed a reassuring kiss against her forehead. "We'll be okay." He said, and he didn't know if he was trying to convince Lydia or himself.

She didn't know if she could believe his words, she didn't know if she could let herself hope that they would really be alright; but still, she squeezed his hand for a moment. "Yeah." She nodded, blinking away the truth of her worry for a second, at least long enough to remember she had wanted to interrogate Stiles moments prior. "Are _you_ okay?" She asked, the frown that had prior been frightened now showed in a concerned motion in his direction.

"Me?" He frowned, suddenly worried that _his _worry was actually printed across his forehead and she could see it, that she could see that the hope he'd wished he could have didn't exist. But then he remember the state he found himself in, the tiredness that showed clearly in his eyes, the lack of sleep. "Oh, yeah." He nodded, forcing a smile onto his lips as his eyes fell to look at their entwined hands. "I've just been having nightmares, that's all."

"Nightmares?" Lydia echoed, her free hand tightening on the straps of her bag. Allison had told her the same thing; she'd been having nightmares, about Kate, about her dead aunt. "What about?" She asked, mind swiftly attempting to connect dots and find patterns that could possibly explain the drawings; more importantly, the difference upon them: the black swirls of ink.

Stiles' eyes rose to look at Lydia again as he shifted in place in attempts to right his backpack's placement upon his back. He couldn't help but wonder if he should tell the rest of the pack about the drawings, and he was thinking about what consequences such an action could bring when he realized Lydia had asked him a question. "Nothing." He lied, shaking his head for a couple of seconds as a scoffed and light breath escaped his lips. "They're nothing important, just bad dreams I've been having for a while." Brushing such a statement off didn't make the truth go away, but he could only hope. He didn't know why he was even hiding the information about the black smoke; he never hid stuff like that, not to Scott, not to Lydia. A couple of silence-filled seconds later, Stiles forced himself to speak once again. "Maybe we should get going." He stated, motioning with his head toward the shut door of the broom closet. "You're going to be late to your next class." He managed, aside from the circumstances, to lift his lips in a smile toward the strawberry blonde girl. "People will start thinking your boyfriend is a bad influence on you."

She couldn't help it, Lydia's lips curved into a soft smile to mirror his. Even through the reveals and the discoveries that had been made only moments prior, Stiles Stilinski was still somehow able to make her smile. "No one would think that." She admitted with a shrug of her shoulder. "They'd probably think the opposite." Keeping that little smirk, she flicked her long locks back and away from her shoulder before she extended her hand toward the doorknob.

Stiles smiled, his hands finally free to lift so he could push his backpack properly into place; but it was at that exact moment, when he shifted a little and heard the gentle jingle of his keys, that he remembered the small package he'd forgotten about with all the definitely serious subjects that the two had been talking about. "Oh, Lydia, wait." He said, avoiding being hit by her long strawberry blonde locks solely by an inch due to the fact that he'd turned his frame a little so he could push his backpack to rest against his chest. "I got something for you." He informed her as his hands fiddled with his bag's zipper so he could reach inside. And, carefully, after rummaging around the mess of papers and notebooks that his backpack was, Stiles finally became able to pull out the white jewelry box where the shiny stone-incrusted L shaped necklace he'd bought for her, rested. Closing his backpack with another swift and clumsy motion of his digits, Stiles finally opened the little box and offered it to a quite shocked wide-eyed Lydia Martin. "I was going to give it to you later, but maybe it could cheer you up right now."

It's not that she didn't like being bought things, she loved it, it was the fact that there was absolutely no reason for a gift to be presented to her at that moment; it made her whole frame freeze and a light gasp to escape her lips as her eyes studied the contents of the little offered box. "It's…" She blinked, her hands lifting to hold the little velvet square with careful shifts. "It's beautiful, Stiles. You didn't have to—" She started, her smile widening gently even while he interrupted her words.

"I know, but I wanted to." He said, pushing his free arm into the second strap of his backpack so it could be secured in place and he could have both his hands free.

Lydia couldn't erase the smile from her lips. "Thank you." Slowly, she looked up into the boy's amber hues; even as her dainty digits grasped the little chain of the necklace until it was no longer held within the box. "Could you put it on?" She asked.

Stiles blinked a couple of times, his lips forming a gentle "O" as his head flicked back with sudden strangeness. "Sure." He said, his eyes narrowing for a second. "It's not exactly my style, and I got it for you, but—"

"On me, Stiles." Lydia stated with a grin and a roll of her eyes, amusement and some sort of admiration shining from her greens as she offered the little necklace to her suddenly smiling boyfriend.

"Right; of course." He chuckled, unable to believe he hadn't understood right away. He took the necklace from her fingers and watched as, still with a wide grin adorning her lips, Lydia turned around until she was facing the door, and then he lifted the necklace above her head and down until the cool pendant rested at the hollow of her throat; her hands then lifted so they could push her long strawberry blonde locks aside, and Stiles' tongue escaped his lips at that moment, due to the attempts at closing the clasp of the necklace that he was endeavoring on. _Why do they have to make women's jewelry so damn difficult at the back? _He wondered, literally allowing a cheerful yelp to escape his lips the moment he had successfully managed to finish his job. "Done." He smiled, allowing his hands to fall on her shoulders, and feeling the tips of his fingers grace her collarbone as she turned around to face him once again, before both his hands dropped.

The smile remained, her eyes falling in attempts at admiring the little L pendant that now rested so gently against her skin. "Thank you, Stiles." She repeated, smiling up at him for a second before turning away once again so her hand could rest upon the doorknob in order to open it.

"No problem." He smiled; yet when the creaking of the doorknob turning reached his ears, he quickly reached for her left hand with his right, and tugged softly on it so she could face him again. "Hey, and, Lydia?" He asked as she turned to face him; it wasn't even a second after she had that he tugged on her hand once again so the space between them could disappear as he leaned down until his lips had pressed against hers in a soft caring kiss; the thumb of the hand that held hers gracing the soft skin of the back of her own.

For a few seconds Lydia was surprised; but then her mind caught up and her lips replied to his in swift motions, pulling him closer, her hand balling against the fabric of his shirt; but then she forced herself to pull away. It left both of them light headed, but she brushed the motion off with a smile and a gentle squeeze of her hand to his. "We need to go." She whispered, lips a few inches away from his, her eyes studying his own.

Even then, Stiles nodded, lips pressed on a tight line as if that alone were to make the taste of her lips remain forever. His eyes lowered to look at their hands for a moment, and when he looked up, he smiled genuinely once again. "Yeah, let's go." He chuckled.

Lydia nodded, a smile to mirror his illuminating her features even as she took a step back and forced her hand to let go of his so her frame could turn, and her hand could finally grasp the door's handle to turn it and tug, moving back against Stiles so the door would not hit her, and finally stepping out of the broom closet into the now empty hallways; empty because everyone was in class by that point. "Come on." She said, looking back for a moment, taking his hand, and opening the door further until they could both exit the room.

Stiles' eyes shifted from one side of the hallway to the next, if anything, to make sure no one was there; a smile lifted his lips and a nod bobbed his head as he looked in Lydia's direction once again, a calm, yet tired grin. "See you at lunch." He said, lifting their held hands so he could kiss the back of hers prior to letting go and leaning in to press a short peak to her lips simply because he could, and then turned around to walk away and _run _toward brain hemorrhage inducing History lessons that were bound to be even more difficult to stay awake during due to his eminent tiredness.

"Have fun in History!" Lydia called in his direction, making a smile cross his lips as he hurried toward the stairs. The steps sounded too damn heavy in his ears as he stormed to the second floor of the school to be able to arrive to History class; but he knew that the sound of his steps wasn't actually as loud as he thought it to be; it was nothing but the tiredness sharpening his senses with the bubble of grogginess and need for sleep engulfing his brain in a horrible embrace. Regardless of the fact, he knew he had to get to class, which meant that , against the school rules, he was running.

With nothing to do with the tiredness eating at his brain, though, Stiles stumbled; the palms of his hands landing hard on the cold floor as he barely avoided being hit by _it: _the hallucination; it had to have been a hallucination, right? A big, horrid cloud of black smoke that had lounged toward him with swiftness that he had even been surprised he'd been able to duck in time to avoid it. Ducked? More like fallen to avoid it.

His breath quickened, and his senses awakened as adrenaline pumped through his veins. His head wiped back to look at the dark cloud that hovered inches from the ceiling. "What are you?" He whispered, but then it moved again; hurrying in Stiles' direction.

He stood quick, or as quick as he could possibly manage; the soles of his sneakers squeaking against the floor as he stumbled away from the deadly smoke. Stiles ran, almost sure that he wouldn't be able to outrun it when he _literally _stumbled into his History classroom, shutting the door with a heavy and loud bang after pushing it closed with his foot. He leaned against the palms of his hands just in time to see the black smoke scurrying off into one of the air vents in the hallway.

There was a deafening silence behind the amber eyed boy; nothing but the quickness of his breaths slipping in and out of his lungs. But then… "Mister Stilinski." The voice of his History teacher said behind him, and he turned quick, almost startled by his voice.

It's like Stiles got pushed onto "reality". For his whole being suddenly became aware of the many eyes that rested on him; the shocked expressions from every single one of his classmates. And only one question remained scorching inside his mind:

Did anyone else see _it? _Or was he really losing his mind?

**To Be Continued.**


	4. Chapter 4: Thirteen Reasons Why

It was as if every step he took wasn't taken by him, every word came from his vocal chords, but didn't come from his mind; every blink, every breath, every malevolent smile that reflected on the mirror. It wasn't him, it was _it. _The thing in his head, the one that had taken complete control over him from that strange night when he'd been attacked after practice by a strange cloud of black smoke.

It'd led him to school the next day, lacrosse practice; it'd talked to all of his friends as if it were him, but it hadn't been. Inside, he was yelling at them, _LOOK AT ME! THE REAL ME! LOOK. AT. ME. _But no one noticed; they were all fooled by its act. In more occasions that one, it had led him, his body in its control, to private corners where they could see their reflection; they, because he was in a prison inside his own mind, and _it_ controlled the rest. His eyes stared back at him in the mirror, only it looked as if he were looking from behind a window pane; as if he wasn't looking at himself at all. It had been at that moment when he'd noticed the dark voids of black that invaded his once familiar chocolate hues. "You see, Danny?" His voice echoed many times during those short private moments with the intruder. "You see how every single one of them goes on without you?" It taunted. "How they don't even _notice _you're not… you?" Danny's eyes; no, _it's _eyes narrowed upon the reflection, and any speck of light from the bulbs above his head that had illuminated their dark hue was completely gone. It truly looked as if whatever shade had overpowered them had burnt through Danny's optics like coal on a fire, leaving nothing behind. "Pay close attention." It whispered with his voice. "You have to play close attention."

Danny wanted to move, he wanted to tell his intruder to shut up, to get the hell out of him and go annoy someone else. His life was _fine; _he didn't care if he was ignored, he didn't care if no one in Beacon Hills remembered his name when he was gone. He didn't really expect to stay in contact with any of them anyway, ever. Ethan, maybe, but even he felt like a temporary stop in his journey due to the werewolf thing.

Danny wouldn't say he loved Ethan; but that also didn't mean that it didn't hurt when his intruder had lead him toward the tall, short haired, Adonis that was his boyfriend. It's what one of the things that had hurt the most of that day: his intruder controlled his body so that he slammed Ethan against the lockers in the changing rooms. "Whoa." He had said, and then Danny's intruder willed his body to kiss him; so hard and passionately that it almost felt like _Danny _was the one intruding. But he screamed; Danny screamed again and again for the black eyed intruder to stop. To stop kissing Ethan, to stop acting as if it were him.

And even worse than any of that had been the manner in which the intruder had led Danny through a full day of clueless looks, friendly chatter and pointless flirting, and no one ever noticed the fact that Danny was acting out of character. Not once did any of his friends wondered why he suddenly walked as if he owned the whole school, no one ever noticed that he was not paying attention in class and instead was writing seemingly incoherent sentences on his notebook as he had an internal battle of ask and answer with the black eyed being, not lifting his hand _once _to answer any question that his teachers asked. No one lifted a brow when he barely spoke during lunch, and Ethan never realized that he wouldn't ever attack him with kisses the way he had in front of the _whole _lacrosse team due to the fact that he wasn't one for very public displays of affection. Sure, he could be wild, he _was_ wild… but in private. Yet… apparently, his boyfriend hadn't known him enough to find something like _that _strange.

Sure, Danny never expected to be thought of as important in that, his town of the strange and unusual; but to truly realise how incredibly unimportant he was... well, it hurt. "Did you see?" His voice whispered in the lowest of tones as the intruder led him forth toward his home, steps slow, yet steady, as if they had all the time in the world. "Did you see the way each one of the people you think know you, couldn't care... less?" _No, that's not true. _Danny replied in his mind; he wanted to scream, and he was, but he wanted to hear it erupt from his mouth. He wanted his vocal chords to break with intensity as he yelled for help, any help; but instead what came out was laughter, deep, dark, monstrous laughter that would have sent chills though his spine if he were the one in control; but he felt nothing. _Leave! _He screamed inside his head, which only caused his intruder to laugh; the sounds leaving his lips controlled fully by it and its demonic tones. "You are a fool, boy." It said, holding tightly onto the strap of Danny's backpack. "But we're not done for the day." _For the day? _Danny wondered, Would that mean it was going to let him go?

But of course the intruder laughed again. To hear his voice making such strange sounds was horrible; to hear it, to feel the air leaving his lungs in small lapses as it laughed. "What's so damn funny?" A female voice called, and when the intruder turned his head, Danny saw his mum. _No, _he thought. _Not her. _

"Nothing." His voice said. "Something I read on the way home." But they weren't his words; his intruder wasn't done, he was putting on the horribly fake act of being him once again. The fake tone of concern that adorned his voice was foreign to Danny, mostly because he _never _spoke like that. "Are you going somewhere, mother?" It asked, mocking him with every word. He would never call her that; it was always 'mom'; mom, mom, _MOM! _Danny yelled, but nothing left his lips.

"Book club." His mum replied. "I left some dinner on the table okay?" She said, slipping her keys inside her straw purse. "Don't wait up!"

_What!? _Danny thought. _No way. _"Of course." His voice spoke again. "Have fun!" _Nooo! _Danny had to do something; how could he be so trapped? How could he be so useless? _LET ME GOOOO_ "OOOO!" _Wait.. _"Mom!" It was Danny, _he_ had said that. How had he even—

"Yes?" His mum said, turning around to face him. "What?" She asked, standing a few feet away from him by the corner of the garden.

But he couldn't move, couldn't even blink. All day long Danny had been trying to fight against that intruder of his, and now that he had.. "Mom," he repeated, "I think you need to call—_me when you get safely there, okay?" _Danny had felt it; some sort of push inside his brain, inside his being that just stopped him from whatever it was he had achieved for a few seconds; he was a prisoner again.

The intruder moved his body forward to walk toward his confused mum, and it wrapped his arms around her. "I love you, mother." It said, and Danny wanted to scream again. Could he do it? Could he somehow manage to push the bastard back enough to tell her to help him.

"I love you too, Danny." She replied in a somewhat confused tone. "Are you okay?" Well, at least she'd noticed something was wrong with her son.

He needed to speak again, he needed to do whatever it was he'd done before, he needed to— "Yeah, I'm just tired." His voice spoke, making him want to scream once again. "Going to sleep for a bit. Have fun!" And then the intruder led them away from her and into the house. _No. _Danny thought. _No, no! I need to speak to her! _He wanted to tell her that he needed someone to help him. "I don't know how you managed that bit of strength, little man," it stated with dark spite, "but I assure you, it will be your last attempt." His voice whispered upon his command as the door of his home shut with a loud bang.

Not even thirty minutes later, Danny was staring at his black eyed reflection again; sweat beads glistening under the glimmers of light. He'd been fighting; attempting to, at least, and just like the short amount of time he had been able to break free before, he had been able to do again. But his intruder was angry now, even as it forced his hand to write the words of something that looked _too _much like the last words of a desperate soul; not the kind of thing Danny would ever write at all. Spots of ink here and there, splattered the page from the short moments he had been able to fight back, but to no avail; and Danny was starting to get tired, truly and fully, and because of it his intruder had become stronger. _I can't go on, _the splattered letter read, _I am tired, and I am sorry, but I see no way out; I have chosen to escape my own boring and pointless reality where all I feel is pain inside. All I feel is dread and sadness as I push forward one day after another in a pointless routine. This life will lead me nowhere. _

Danny was crying; at least there, in the little prison inside his head, he was crying. The dire realisation of what had been happening in town... _Has this been it? _He wondered, had those other people that were thought of as victims of suicide in town go through what he was going through at that very moment? The fight, the horrible realisations all throughout the day? Was Danny truly watching the very last moments of his life through the eyes of a stranger? _Stop. _He thought, again and again until it felt like an endless loop that no one but he could hear. His intruder was done, he was smiling by the moment the pen hit the desk again.

It was a short moment; truly only a passing thought, but suddenly Danny wondered if there was at all any point on trying to fight against it anymore. Regardless of how long the thought remained and shortly after left, the horrid black eyed intruder caught up on it. "That's right, little boy." He taunted. "Give up. You are nothing anymore; you will be nothing because I have the power to end you, I have the _will _to end you." He spoke no more.

Instead, the intruder led his body up from the chair in front of the desk and toward the washroom in the hall; Danny wanted to keep screaming, and he did, he wanted to keep fighting, to believe that he had some sort of chance against such an unknown creature, but he simply couldn't. He was too tired, he was as exhausted as he would be if he had run the furthest distance. _Please. _Danny thought weakly, more tired that he dared acknowledge, but once the black eyed reflection looked back at him again, now from the mirror in the washroom, it only shook his head. The smirk that adored his lips in the reflection was unfamiliar; eerie accompanied by the glistening black hue of the intruder's eyes, and then, just like that, the intruder willed his hand to lift, balling into a fist as it did, and then connected with the mirror in a strong motion forward, shattering his reflection into small, sharp, different sized pieces.

Danny could feel the warmth of blood ooze from the places the contact of his fist on the mirror had wounded the flesh, and this time, he screamed in his head in pain; no sound left his lips while controlled by _it. _It willed to move his body slowly, now, as if saving each second of the moment in the mind that had invaded everything but the little corner where Danny found himself prisoner. He could hear the soft clicking of glass upon glass, soft little noises that broke the otherwise completely still silence; and only when it willed Danny's eyes to see what it was doing, did the trapped boy realise that it was now holding one of the longer pieces of broken mirror that had fallen on the sink, and his hand tightened around it upon his command, sending sharp pangs of pain all throughout Danny's arm.

This time, the scream did leave his lips; but whatever couple of seconds he had unconsciously managed to gain in his favour were just as quickly lost once the scream turned into laughter. Echoing waves of it that made an already horrible situation worse; it was enjoying the moment. It was enjoying every second.

When the laughter finally died down it wasted no time; the arm that held the sharp glass lifted a couple of inches in the air before striking down until the sharpest end of the broken mirror had stabbed the inside of his wrist. At first Danny felt nothing; shock ran too deep within him to even feel a thing, but then his hand moved commanded by him, forcing the glass to rip the skin of his arm apart as if it were a door in a prison slowly opening to let a tortured inmate escape; only Danny remained.

Blood; red, bright blood dripped in unstoppable motions down his arm and onto the once white tiled floor. It laughed again, with his voice; but this time Danny was screaming too loud inside his head for the sound to echo any louder than a whisper. But then there was silence, and more pain. It had willed Danny's body to move once again so that the already tainted glass could paint the same bloody picture on his right arm, only this time Danny couldn't scream. This time he was simply too weak.

Warm sensations tingled his skin as every drop of blood fell from his exposed wounds, and his voice, sounding far stronger than Danny felt in the little corner of his slowly darkening mind, spoke once again. "I win." It said, and then he felt the same horrible sensation of fire tearing apart his throat the way in which two days prior he had when the black cloud of smoke had attacked him, only now it was leaving him.

Danny watched with tired eyes as that same cloud of smoke escaped swiftly through his lips, and once the last speck of it disappeared, he could hold himself upright no longer. First it was his knees, then his back, then his head, all falling slowly onto the ever growing pool of blood at his feet in what felt like slow motion. He had been asking to feel, to be able to move on his own, to be able to speak for the past day and a half, and now he was too weak to even move; the warm trickling continued upon his arms, warm, surrounding him by then, beside his head, under him, around his frame; his blood.

In the distance, the echoing of a phone ringing tooted in the walls of the house as Danny's eyes fell closed. One ring, two rings, thee... _beep. _"Hi, this is the Mahealani household, please leave a message after the tone." Said a bored version of the voice that belonged to the boy that now laid on the floor unmoving. Even then, in the slowly increasing darkness, Danny could remember recording such a message for his mum.

"Hiiii, honey!" Came the sound of his mother from the voicemail she was leaving. "You told me to call you once I got to Janine's house." Her voice echoed even further away for the fading boy. "I'm here now, so don't worry your tired head about me. Though judging by your lack of answer I'm assuming you're asleep." A short giggle. "Anyway, love you honey! See you later!" _beep. _

Her last few words sounded like the very distant echo inside the longest tunnel, and the last thought in the boy's mind was that the last his mother had seen of him had been nothing but a shadow; someone that hadn't truly been him.

Danny whispered one last weak call for her before everything went black.

_**~Two days later~**_

A school day like any other, where he woke up, took a shower, ate his cereal and went to school with next to no worry in the world; that was what that day should have been for Stiles Stilinski. Everything was meant to be over, the nightmares, the stupid following black smoke, the fear of evil lurking in the shadows of his room. But no; it hadn't stopped.

Not even the presence of Lydia Martin in his room two days prior had stopped the nightmares. She'd come to him for comfort after having had one of her Banshee episodes; one that had made her end up in Danny Mahleani's front door, and clearly too late, for when she got there, their friend was being wheeled away with a sheet over his whole body. A suicide, they said, but... well, Scoot and his pack highly doubted it.

Regardless, Lydia had gone to Stiles for comfort, and it had all ended with her falling asleep in his arms. _Stiles _had been supposed to be the one to comfort her, yet, instead, when in his dreams he had seen her die by his hand at least five times that night, she had comforted him after waking up screaming so loudly that he had truly been surprised he hadn't a_ctually _killed her of a heart attack.

And last night it had been the Sheriff's turn. Waking up from killing Lydia, to killing his dad, only to wake up from that again to kill someone else he loved as if he were stuck in a loop of dreams that he was only able to wake up from with the loudest scream his lungs could master. It made the boy start wondering what was truly real and what wasn't. For one side he knew Lydia was alive, he'd made sure of it by texting her before leaving to school; she'd replied, of course. And his dad? Well, let's just say he had been incredibly confused for all of ten seconds when the amber eyed boy wrapped his arms around him while the Sheriff was making himself some coffee. "Nightmares again?" He had asked, as if he hadn't burst into his room once again, no gun this time, to calm the boy down.

The whole occurrence became so frequent as of late, that the sheriff no longer left the need to bring a gun to save him from harm; he knew that what haunted his son couldn't possibly be terminated by a gun, unless he decided to shoot the troubled boy in the head in order to end with the nightmares, but... well, that was not going to happen.

Regardless of such actions, Stiles had wished for that day to be different; he'd wished for himself to be able to have a peaceful day where he could just... be at peace. Yet, there he was; heart beating as fast as the engine of the blue Jeep he was currently driving, his eyes red and bloodshot from lack of sleep, and his knuckles almost impossibly pale due to the force with which his hand was gripping the steering wheel.

Tired eyes flicked from the open road behind him to his rearview mirror and back toward the road, because there it was again: the pitch black smoke; following and hovering over him like a cloud from a cartoon awaiting to zap its victim with an electric charge. Had the situation been any different, Stiles might actually have laughed. But, no, he was aware of the cloud above him, breaths came in panted rhythms as a couple of silent tears dropped from his eyes, probably because the boy refused to blink; it made him feel as if he were in a Doctor Who episode, with those horrid statues that kill one by touch and move if one blinks.

"Go away, go away." Stiles whispered in a chant. _Public_, he thought, he had to go into a public place for the cloud to leave; it was his logic, due to the fact that the last time it had come for him he had been lucky enough to burst into his History class. But now? Well... he was in an open road; a couple of miles from the hospital, a few couple more from the school, which was his original destination.

His eyes flicked to the rearview mirror once again, and he noticed the cloud was closer. "Go away!" He yelled at it; but it only moved even nearer. That was when he lost it; he lost complete control of the car. On his attempt to avoid the cloud from touching him, Stiles had turned the wheel so quick that only ten seconds later his Jeep was laying on its side.

Thankfully enough, Stiles had had his seatbelt on; which only provoked a short whiplash. But adrenaline pumped in quick motions through his veins, quicker than he could even imagine his heart could manage, and though he could feel a scorching pain on his arm, the moment Stiles opened his eyes again and unbuckled the belt, his forearm stopped him from falling headfirst onto the ground, he managed to crawl out of the car; a wet, sticky feeling reigning over the back of his forearm.

When he stood, turning around to see the sideways mess that his beloved Roscoe was, Stiles' eyes flicked up to the hovering cloud above it. It was as if it'd been waiting; waiting to see if he'd survived the crash, maybe? He didn't know. All he was even aware of was that he turned around, ignoring the burning, wet feeling on the back of his arm, and ran. Ran as quickly as his legs could carry him.

This time his destination didn't matter; he only had one goal: to be in a public space and away from the haunting smoke. And he hoped he could make it, because Beacon Hills Memorial Hospital was no longer miles away; all he had to do was run. _Run. _

Run, and Don't. Look. Back.

_Run. _

**To Be Continued.**


	5. Chapter 5: Black Smoke'd Secret

"Do it, alright? He needs to be readied for surgery." Melissa McCall nodded kindly toward a nurse that attempted to convince her the idea wasn't a good one, but she left, making the tired brunette emit a sigh and return to her position at the back of the desk. It had been a long day; a truly long day, she was glad she only had a few minutes left of it. She was thinking about such a fact with nearly relieved motions, when a shaky voice reached her ears in a nearly ignorable tone. She wouldn't ignore it, thought, not with her job, not with her kindness; but she was not expecting to see her son's best friend standing shaky and bleeding right in front of her. "Stiles?" She asked quickly, feet leading her away from the back of the desk toward the distraught boy, hands immediately outstretched in search to aid him. "Are you alright?"

His breath came jaded, his eyes stung with the manner in which he had not dared blink, and his hands, as he noticed at that moment, were trembling. He'd made it; _I made it? _He thought. _I'm safe? _Fear and confusion streaked eyes lifted to look in Melissa's direction, who he hadn't exactly recognised until she had laid eyes on her. "I..." He heard himself trying to speak, voicing with shaky breaths as his brow furrowed. "I don't know. I-I guess..." He could still feel the burning on his forearm, and his eyes lifted away from Melissa's in search of the horrid smoke that had been following; but when he found nothing, his eyes lowered once again toward his hands, and only one thought echoed in his mind: _Have I lost my mind? _"I guess not really?"

It was all it took for Melissa to shake herself away from her watching position in order to approach Stiles and place a hand around his shoulder and another on his harmed arm. "Alright, kiddo." She said, but the rest of her words echoed as if in the furthest tunnel for the boy. He was in shock, and everything around him moved in blurs. "Come with me." The couple of steps down the hallway after she'd given instructions to some other nurses to step back echoed so far away that, seconds later, when a loud snap tooted against his ears, it was so loud that it forced his lids to blink, once, twice, three times, making gentle tears fall against his cheeks from the dryness he'd cursed them with. Amber orbs fell to look into Melissa's own before his head bobbed in a nod. He was there, standing in front of her, but all he could think about was the smoke, the crash. How had he been able to run after _that_? He could feel Melissa's hands, and he was a hundred percent aware that they were both moving; but surely they moved faster than he believed they were, because everything was happening in slow motion in his yes, and then in fast forward. A blur of faces and places all around him, and all he could do was attempt to breathe, remain aware, remain wide awake in case the black smoke was near. He'd lost it. There was no question about it. He had absolutely lost it.

Moments later, the door of the closest empty room clicked shut, and the kind brunette led Stiles toward the bed. It was then, when she faced him completely that she realised he was having signs of a panic attack that seemed to be mixed with the shock. "Stiles." She said, attempting to lower her frame enough to look him straight in the eye. "Stiles, I need you to count to three, okay? Slowly." She nodded. "Breathe in counts of three and say the number." Even as she spoke she lifted a pen light in order to check his eyes. And she wasn't at all surprised when she realised the dilatation she found in them when she did.

He could see the bright light in front of him, he could hear Melissa's words in a far away echo, but he heard it nonetheless; his eyes blinked again and his lips parted as reddened hues tried focusing on his best friend's mom. "One..." He heard himself saying, though it sounded almost as distant as Melissa's own voice. "Two." _Breathe, Stiles, breathe. _He chanted in his mind, forcing himself to breathe as deeply as he dared, seeing the nurse in front of him while his heart attempted beating down onto a normal pace again. A soft fear filled whimper left his lips as his eyes squeezed shut, stinging from their once lack of blink. He'd started breathing quickly again. "One!" He repeated louder, encouraged by Melissa; she continued standing near him, but this time her face started to become clearer to the boy. Breathing deeply again, he nodded at her. "Two." His fingers gripped tight against the edge of the bed, and he became even more aware of the stinging on his arm. Staring right at the nurse with tears in his eyes, Stiles finally said the last number. "Three." He became completely aware of where he was even if is heart continued beating as if it were to leave its cavity. All Stiles could do was force himself to keep breathing.

"You're alright." She said, attempting a comforting smile in his direction. "You're okay now." With careful movements, her hands aided the amber eyed boy in removing his damaged red hoodie so she could finally examine the wound on his bleeding arm. "You're going to need stitches." She stated, her head shaking from side to side for a moment as she frowned; finally looking up at him once again. "What happened?" She asked, careful as she left the hoodie by his side and slowly turned his arm.

His body moved automatically, but his mind was almost a hundred percent focused on Melissa's words. His lips parted to speak, but the words got stuck in his throat. What _had _happened? How could he possibly explain to his best friend's mother what he had just been through without sounding like a complete lunatic? Answer was: he couldn't. Regardless, he tired. "I... I crashed." He said. "My car, it..." His eyes lifted to meet hers again while he forced himself to take another deep breath. "It flipped over. I had my seat belt on, but I had to run, or..." _Stop. _He thought, feeling as if his heart were about to start beating wildly again; as if the memory alone would return him from sanity into the complete opposite. He didn't know what else to say. He could only shake his head.

"Wait, you _ran _here?" She said, shocked, stopping her actions for a moment and looking at Stiles with concern stricken eyes. "From where?" She asked, only moving in order to search the room for cotton pads, and supplies to clean his wounds. Only, before he even replied, she turned around to face him again. "Is it okay if I stitch you up, or do you want me to get a doctor?"

Stiles' head simply bobbed in an affirmative nod toward the woman before his words were able to follow and leave his lips in response to her last question. "Yeah, you, of course." Truth was, now that he was slowly gaining back his mind, he was glad it had been Melissa that had seen him first instead of any other doctor. Had it been, he probably would be in a worse state of panic than he had been only moments ago. Stiles trusted Scott's mom as much as he trusted his own dad. So, before he could let himself start thinking too much about what had happened _before _he had started running, he allowed himself to answer Melissa's first question. "I ran, like... Three? Four miles?" His eyes fell from her direction to his one unharmed hand. "I was on my way to school when I saw—when it happened." He blinked repeatedly at his near slip. _Stay quiet. _It was almost a command; a command from his sane self telling him not to speak of insanity. He listened.

The frown in Melissa's forehead shifted from concern to short suspicion, because she'd heard it. Having a son that couldn't lie as well as he wished he could, she had grown used to paying attention at small spilt details of someone's speech, and the small withholding of information in Stiles' explanation hadn't gone unnoticed. "That's a very long way to run after hitting your head." She admitted, the suspicion slowly bleeding into her words as she placed some utensils, of which Stiles only felt the need to acknowledge the needles, on a silver tray she placed on the bed after pushing his hoodie away. "Fold your arm, and keep it as steady as possible." She requested, sitting down on a stool as silver as the tray she'd placed beside him, and slipping on a pair of yellow rubber gloves.

As if all his eyes could do now was blink, Stiles nodded in her direction, doing as she asked him to and keeping his arm folded and raised in the air, then resting his elbow where she told him to so he didn't have to do as such; the familiar care coming from Melissa made him feel a little better, and he became able to breathe without fearing that, if he didn't take deep breaths, he'd enter into a state of panic once again. She helped him that much; but still, he didn't know if he should peak, if he should say exactly what he had seen and what had had him running with nothing but adrenaline to help him toward the first public place he'd been able to find. He watched as she wetted a cotton pad with a liquid prior to focusing on cleaning his wound; a small concerned frown remained across his forehead as he watched her, his lips parted as if that alone were to allow more breath to enter his lungs. "You know you can trust me, right?" She suddenly asked as if she'd read his mind, looking up into Stiles' amber hues while wetting a second cotton pad; he hadn't realised he'd felt no pain the first time until the second time he had to wince. Something that just made Melisa's head shake and a short apology to leave her lips. His grip on the bed tightened as she continued cleaning the wound itself. All Melissa could do was hurry, and state the reality of what she wanted him to know in attempts to distract him from what she couldn't stop doing. "I have a werewolf for a son," She smiled, shaking her head once, yet focusing on what she was doing. "I'm pretty sure that whatever it is you tell me you think I won't believe, I will at least give it the benefit of the doubt."

As if blinking was Stiles' new language, he allowed his lips to curve in the smallest of smiles. Forgetting she knew about the supernatural side of Beacon Hills was sometimes easy to do, yet, with Scott as a son, Stiles doubted there was much the woman didn't know about everything that had been going on in town. For a short moment Stiles attempted to use the coolness of the alcohol on the undamaged skin to serve as a distraction, yet, once again, when the damn substance hit the place where Stiles guessed he'd hurt himself, he winced once again. Melissa held him in place, but he _had _jumped a bit; it was as if that had been kick start enough for him to decide to trust Miss McCall. "You can't tell Scott." He said with determined eyes as he looked up in her direction. Why had he said that? Why did something inside him not want Scott to know? Why was he sweating? His healthy hand lifted to get rid of some droplets of sweat that had trickled down his forehead.

Melissa remained quiet for a few moment as she placed the used cotton pads in a garbage bin; then her hands seemed busy readying a needle with a substance that Stiles could only imagine served to numb his arm. As she did such a thing she thought over the possible agreement to not tell her son the things his friend wanted to confide her with; an ordeal that came to a short end once she reached for his arm and aligned the needle somewhere _very _close to the wound. "Okay." She said, nodding once. "Talk to me." And even though she knew such a promise would probably end up hitting her on the behind, she also knew using his speech as distraction over the needle was good enough a tactic.

His head bobbed in another nod; he knew Melissa knew what she was doing, so he didn't worry much over _most _of it all. Instead he was more worried over how he could explain what had happened what felt like days before but had only been that very morning. "I've been having horrible nightmares every night." He looked away to the complete opposite direction of the nurse; he knew she knew what she was doing... but that didn't mean he was less uncomfortable around needles. "And I think they're all tied to this..." He paused, lids fluttering after feeling the tip of the needle exiting his flesh with a horrible sting due to the place she'd had to inject him in. But his head shook once as if that alone could give him the strength he needed to keep talking. "...black smoke that has been following me." Stiles knew exactly how it sounded; and actually? It sounded ten times worse than he originally thought it would.

There was a short silence, one in which Melissa's hands got rid of the syringe and other unnecessary things before she sat down on the stool once again; and only once she rested before him and pinched his arm after a few seconds did she speak again. "Did you feel that?" She asked.

"Not really." He answered, gulping back a knot that had formed in the middle of his throat and blinking again.

She nodded. "What do you mean black smoke?" She finally wondered aloud as her hands moved to ready the needle so she could start stitching his wound.

He didn't answer right away, of course; he didn't know how to. And this time he actually had to force himself to breathe; not because he was going to have another attack by thinking about the smoke, but because, a few moments later, he could feel the needle's pinches in the form of gentle taps against his skin every time a stitch was made. "The black smoke, it..." Melissa knew him well enough to want to keep him talking; yet, most of Stiles wished it wasn't about _that _subject specifically, regardless of if it was kind of nice to talk to someone about what had been tormenting him for so long. Sure, it made him feel even crazier, but... "It's alive." He told her before shaking his head, forcing his eyes to remain far from her hands and even her face, just in case. But he didn't have to even look at her to know she'd found such a statement strange; her hands had stopped moving for a few seconds before resuming their work. "Look, I know how that sounds." He exhaled somewhat loudly, trying not to move. "But I mean it; it's like one of those rain clouds in cartoons, only it's black, and huge, and made of smoke, and it follows me as if it were waiting to strike. I..." His head shook again, thoughts rushing wildly once again as he tried keeping his mind away from the needle Melissa kept driving into his skin while also attempting to believe he hadn't actually lost his mind for good.

"Alright." She said, frowning for a moment. "I believe you." She frowned, looking up at Stiles' features with a concerned expression for a quick second prior to lowering her eyes to look at her work once again. "You say you're having nightmares?" She asked, watching him as he nodded; his appearance, other than the dishevelled clothes and the wounds she was working on, seemed to be paler than usual, his eyes were nearly red and bloodshot. "How many hours of sleep are you getting?" She suddenly asked him.

_She doesn't believe me. _Stiles thought as a sigh escaped his lips and his eyes lowered to look at his lap. He didn't blame her; to be honest, if he were in her shoes, he probably wouldn't believe himself either. "Eight." He replied, anyway.

"A night?" She asked, keeping her eyes on his arm.

"The last three days." His eyes didn't lift, but once again he could feel Melissa's hands stopping their work in order to look at him in silence for a few seconds.

She could only nod at the information, lowering her eyes to look at her work once again and allowing a silence to continue until she'd placed the last stitch on his arm. "All done." She said with a little forced smile, setting the needle and bloody cotton pads down before reaching for a bandage to wrap Stiles' forearm with. "You need to stay here for observation, alright?" Her eyes lifted to emphasize her words; at such a statement his eyes finally fell on hers again. "I will talk to a doctor, but you need to stay." She nodded. "Running after being in a car crash the way you describe it is not something that should be taken lightly; you may need an MRI to check for concussions, Stiles."

Suddenly his face was twisted into an expression of disagreement, fear and nerves that had almost nothing to do with the smoke he'd talked to her about. He'd been about to thank her when she'd spoken out the very words he had feared she would say. His eyes nearly pleaded her to let him go, and his whole body sunk in disappointment as his head attempted to shake. "No, please." He begged. "I can't stay; I'm already behind in homework as it is. And then it would freak Scott out, and you'd have to tell my dad, and..." Why was he so intent on not telling anyone? Why was he so suddenly scared of staying in a place where he was probably safer? His head shook in confusion and the dire need to make the nurse let him leave.

"I can't let you leave, okay?" Melissa told him in a tone that stated the end of the inexistent argument as she stood to get rid of all the things she'd used on the different disposal containers.

"_Please_, I—" He started, confused, scared and nervous all at once.

"Stiles!" She interrupted, smiling comfortingly in his direction as she moved back to rest a hand against his shoulder. "You're staying, end of discussion." She nodded. "I need you to answer some questions for me, okay?"

He didn't want to give up, he wanted to somehow find a way to make her agree of his dismissal, but he knew Melissa McCall as well as he knew his own father. She'd spoken, her word was final. And shouldn't he be glad he was staying somewhere public and crowded for a while? Shouldn't he be glad he was going to be somewhere safe? "Okay." He replied, defeated and with a nod.

"Right." She said, turning away from him for a moment as a question escaped her inquiring lips. "Just answer honestly, alright?" She looked at him again and watched him nod. "Good." She paused. "Have you been feeling irritable?"

"Yeah..." He didn't even take two seconds to answer, but even then the reply escaped in a questioning tone. "Possibly..." He frowned. "To the point of homicide."

She turned away from him once again to walk toward a cabinet near the bed. "Inability to focus?" She wondered, the sound of jingling keys reaching the boy, making him attempt to see what she was doing.

"No, I—the Aderall's not working." He replied with a sigh, lowering his eyes and shaking his head. He began to feel slightly frustrated.

"Impulsive behaviour?" Melissa's voice tooted questioningly, her hands moving before her, yet her back blocking the view for Stiles.

It made him almost immediately start wondering if she was asking such question in order to get to a point. "More than my usual?" He asked, taking a breath before quickly shaking his head. "Hard to tell."

Melissa's head nodded slowly. "Vivid dreams during the day." It was a statement, one that bled with the knowledge of what he'd told her, and which showed clear upon her moving features. All of it made Stiles realise that she most likely _did _know what was going on.

He had no other option than nodding his head once. "Okay, basically all of the above." He frowned, watching Melissa walk back toward him with a determined stance and even the hint of a smile playing on her lips. "You know what this is?" And for a moment Stiles started thinking that maybe the horrid black smoke that had been following him had been nothing but a mere hallucination, that he _was _actually crazy; as horrifying as it was, he welcomed the thought, because at least it meant no new supernatural thing was roaming the streets of Beacon Hills. All in all, Stiles hoped.

After a few seconds, Melissa finally stopped walking, standing in front of him; she nodded, unable to remove the smile from her lips. "I think so." She looked at him, but she didn't say anything else.

And it didn't matter, because the only thing Stiles had been able to focus on was that there was a brand new syringe held between her stable fingers. "W-what's that?" He wondered, amber hues flickering from the needle to the woman's chocolate hues as he narrowed his own softly.

For a moment she simply smiled, her eyes falling on the needle in her hands before looking in Stiles' direction once again. "Do you trust me?" She wondered, kindness bleeding from her every word.

The boy's eyes searched Melissa's for any sign that he could get out of the situation, but he found none. So he simply blinked and allowed a soft retort to escape his lips. "When you're holding a needle?" He looked down, concerned, yet surprisingly somewhat hopeful.

Melissa's lips lifted in a wider smile that accompanied the breathy laugh that escaped them; yet she moved, much to Stiles' surprise, to lift his sleeve and wet a small area of his shoulder with an alcohol-soaked cotton ball. "It's... Midazolam." She informed as she injected Stiles, watching the way his eyes squeezed shut for a short moment after the pinch from the needle. Once it was over, Stiles' eyes fell to look at his arm once again. "It's a sedative."

It was those words that shocked Stiles' eyes into lifting to look at his best friend's mother; confusion was clearly printed in them. "Why did you give me a sedative?" He wondered; he felt as if he were to step into another nightmare if Melissa got him to actually sleep.

"Because you, Stiles," she paused, looking at him, "are one profoundly sleep deprived young man." She replied, placing her hands on both his shoulders and smiling gently and comfortingly. "You need rest." She nodded. "And you need it now." With a gentle push, she started helping him lower his frame onto the bed. "Lay down."

"But, the nightmares, what if—" He asked, pausing to take a breath as he slowly moved along with her motions. He wished to be safe; safe from the smoke, safe from everything, but when he looked at his bandage he felt suddenly vulnerable; yet... as the seconds ticked by, he didn't seem to mind.

"You're safe here." Melissa soothed, helping him get comfortable on the bed. "You're going to be okay."

"Okay." He nodded. "Okay... uhm..." His throat cleared. "Exactly how long does it take to..." He was laying down, and he could feel as Melissa helped with the pillows under his head, yet suddenly a need to close his eyes started invading him. "Whoa..." Melissa somehow managed to pull the sheets on top of him. He'd faded off and even found himself having to lean on the nurse more than before. He found himself reassured by her presence. "Apparently not that long." He finished as he continued feeling like the room started to get blurry; all his fears, his worries, they were all slowly being dissipated by the blurry spots that were suddenly reigning his eyes. For the first time in what felt like months, Stiles felt a hundred percent calm.

Melissa's smile remained as he aided the young man in getting as comfortable as possible; she was turning away when suddenly she found herself surprised by his hand capturing hers in a light hold. She looked at him, wondering if he were going to tell her something, but when he didn't, she simply nodded once again, soothing him with a gentle touch to the forehead. "Just get some rest." She whispered.

Stiles could feel the comfort of the mattress under him at one point, and he truly stopped being aware of things around him; Melissa's voice sounded distant, lighter, even familiar. And he felt a warmth he hadn't felt in the longest time. A memory flashed in blurry circles inside his mind as his breath became softer... _He was a kid again; younger than he could have thought possible to remember, laying on a small bed and looking up into the beautiful brown eyes of his mother. Her smile gave him the warmth that any innumerable amount of blankets couldn't give him. "I'm not going anywhere, Stiles." Claudia said, covering his little body with the Star Wars sheets he had begged his father to buy for him when he was little. _"Thanks, Mom." He told the memory, not ever even truly realising he'd spoken the words out loud before he fell into a deep and dreamless sleep.

**To Be Continued.**


	6. Chapter 6: Tall Guy

If it had been any other day no one would have missed her arrival, with her brand new notebooks in her My Chemical Romance hand bag and her pencil case full of new utensils. They might have even noticed her nerves, her excitement, or at the very least eyes would have turned at the luxurious black BMW that swiftly went past the "Welcome to Beacon Hills High" sign in search of an empty parking space, and finally stopped beside a silver Toyota not too many steps away from the main entrance to the school. They might have noticed her long black curls, the shades that hid beautiful crystal blue hues, the steps she took confidently even as her eyes rested on the screen of her phone; if anyone was really observant they might have seen her nerves or the manner in which she looked from side to side as every newcomer did. They might have noticed as one of her hands slipped inside her leather jacket pocket prior to lifting the strap of her bag over her head until it fell against her shoulder so the strap could cross against her chest. If it were any other day some would have noticed the curiosity with which she searched about the main floor of the school for the main office, maybe someone might have even helped her find it; but this was no usual day in Beacon Hills High School, that day everyone was in mourning.

The air was somber, teachers and students alike as the reality of the most recent suicide settled upon the friends of the victim; Danny Mahealeni's locker door shone adorned with flowers, pictures, notes, all from people who had known him, all from people who were missing him. Between that and the absence of the 'pack's human', Stiles Stilinski, Isaac Lahey felt stressed and distracted. He felt as if he were being riddled with little pin pricks nagging and prodding at him to turn around to offer his assistance to that which he considered his pack and family; he had to ignore those pin pricks, though, ignore the feeling that he needed to talk to Scott McCall because it would be especially suspicious if his whole 'group' just wounded up missing school at the same time. He was in close watch as it was, what better way to get the truancy officer called on him than missing class from what could appear to be a friend-wide event? His guardian, Melissa McCall wouldn't be at all happy about such a fact, especially if it was both teenagers in her care getting in trouble.

Either way, with his nerves all in a bundle, seemingly everyone in his group being absent from school, and his repetitive need to check the empty notifications on his phone, Isaac Lahey ended up rushing through the halls of the school with his eyes and mind everywhere but where he was going; at least any further than knowing that he was attempting to nestle himself down in a desk for the first class of the day to simply absorb himself into the background. And because of it, he simply saw _her _way too late.

One second , he was making a mad dash through the hallway, people and cusses avoided purely by memory of the twists and turns of the school as well as the habitual people in it; the next, his tall frame had collided against someone he had never before met. He'd seen her, yes, with no more than half a second to spare, thus, not enough time to take evasive action. "Whoa!" He heard from the girl as everything in her hands flew away from her grasp and her frame fell backwards toward the ground in a rather ungraceful manner. _Perfect. _Isaac thought, looking at the girl's frame with a frozen stance. He could see a schedule and a map of the school somewhere in between the mess her stuff was on the floor. _Let's injure the innocent humans while worrying about _our _human and Scott. Swell way to start the day, maybe Allison should bring a tranquilizer of some sort, at least that way I'd be asleep and not plowing people over. _"Uh…" But of course he hadn't noticed her, and much so as she hadn't noticed him; her eyes had probably been on her schedule attempting to find the locker number and combination that had been assigned to her by the principal like any new person would. Five… six… too many seconds passed with Isaac simply staring at the girl with a shell shocked expression before he gathered his bearings and hesitantly offered a hand down towards the newcomer girl. "Sorry." He frowned, "I mean…" He watched her as she moved on the floor attempting to gather all her things in a pile and placed her shades on the collar of her shirt. "I didn't… see you?" Isaac continued. "You alright?"

For a beat or two Isaac actually thought the girl would ignore his hand entirely, get up on her own and make that her first impression of the day; but when did thinking every really go well for him? Like most times he was proved something, the girl proved him wrong by looking up at him with shockingly blue eyes, once all her things had been gathered, and lifting a hand to meet his to allow him to help her up. A somewhat friendly smile adorned her lips for a few moments, until she stood straight on her own two feet and pulled her hand away from his grasp so she could attempt dusting off the black material of her band tee. "Oh, yeah, I'm bloody wonderful." She admitted in a deeply sardonic tone, her words bleeding with a deep accent that, with his half cultured mind, Isaac could only label as British. "Getting bumped into on my first day of class is the best way to start, innit?" It was very clear that she was not attempting to hold back the tone of sarcasm for the taller boy's benefit.

Isaac's hands retracted and stuffed themselves into his pockets no more than a few seconds after the girl had pulled away. A simple duck of his head and an uttered apology would have sufficed for him; enough to get on his merry little way and call it a day; but the girl and her thick accent seemed to have other plans. First, his brows pinched together, and then they ascended on their own like they themselves couldn't make up their mind. He wasn't sure if he was more taken aback by how clearly the girl wasn't from around Beacon Hills (or anywhere near the U.S, really), or if he was more taken aback by the level of grudging sarcasm that slipped into her voice without fail. "Well, you traveled a long way." He said in an almost equally sardonic note, "What better way to say welcome to America than by being plowed over by an American." Ending his brief taunt with a barely-there grin, Isaac tossed a look over the girl's shoulder, noticing his class was just a few feet and a hallway turn away.

"What a great welcome. I'm so thankful." Once again, her words bled with a tone of sarcasm that made the taller boy look in her direction again; he watched as she attempted to hug her messed up papers against her chest; this time her words came adorned with a smile that illuminated her features enough to make Isaac think that he was off the hook and she forgave him for the stunt that was bound to leave a bruise on her pale skin. _Ha! _"I reckon it's not easy to pretend you're not foreign when you've got a bunch of people round you speakin' in a funny accent and having _them _think you're the one with the funny accent, yeah?"

"Right." Isaac allowed with a shake of his head and the smallest of smiles playing at his lips. "Isn't there a saying somewhere that the majority rules or something?" He wondered, not at all surprised to see her brows rising in what he hoped to be shock of some sort. Maybe he'd pissed her off enough already and she'd just saunter off and he would be in the clear to make himself like a fly on the wall for the day. But by _that _wicked look in her shocking blue orbs Isaac had no choice but to assume she'd already come up with some retort to his words, thus the reason he ideally lowered his eyes in the direction of the phone he'd just retrieved from his pocket before looking over the girl's shoulder once again. "M'sorry, really. Just…" He said without truly looking at her, and speaking before she even could. "…Welcome to BH, I guess." He _was _sorry, and he _did _try to put that through with the sincerity in his voice, hopefully enough that the girl or bystanders could pick up on it easily.

A soft shake of her head, that was enough to make the waist length ends of her wavy black hair dance, was the thing that had Isaac's eyes fall on her frame again and watch as she attempted to look past his shoulder in what he guessed to be a mirror of what he had been doing. Emphasis on the attempt, since the boy clearly had a head and a couple of inches of shoulder over her. He tried not to smile at the look that crossed her features. "Thanks for your _very _focused concern," she simply stated, "but as I mentioned earlier, it's my first day of class, and I don't want to be late to my first one." She nodded. "So, if you don't mind…"

One of these days Isaac would have to get Scott to teach him how to not come off as rude; everyone seemed to find him adorable, so he truly needed to learn or he was going to end up like Peter. _No, thanks. _It didn't _really _surprise him that the girl seemed to have a remark ready to roll of her tongue without hesitation regardless of her failed attempts of the blatant mimicked action of looking over his shoulder; she did strike him as the type to just have something to say for anything; but he'd come out as rude. He truly hadn't been trying to be, not really, it just sort of happened in awkward situations such as the one he seemed to be stuck in, where he wanted to pat the person, the girl in this case, on the head, and tell them just how important they were to the world in order to make up for his lackluster skills in socializing. He wasn't sure why being dodgy made up for that, but it seemed to do.

He puffed his cheeks out and exhaled slowly at the mention of his _focus _being tossed into the air, took a step to the side, and swept an arm out in front of him toward the empty space beside him. A simple motion to say 'on your way.' _Super. _He thought. _Great first impression. Why am I allowed in public without supervision? _"Try not to get run over again on your way." He told her. "If you've got Coach, don't talk about his shorts, he'll make a shpeel about how convenient they are.

There were a couple of silent seconds in which he didn't know what to expect; maybe another witty retort, or maybe even a slap across the face, but once those seconds passed he was surprised to see the smile across her lips shift in amusement and her brows lifted; an expression that spoke in a clear _you did _not _just do that_ toward the blue eyed boy; something to which he only smiled in a very _oh, yes I did, _manner. Was that the scent of short admiration Isaac caught in the girl for a couple of moments? He wasn't sure, but it wasn't long until a huff, more of a scoffed breath really, left the girl's lips as her hands hugged her papers tighter against her chest and her head shook.

His hands lowered, and he truly thought she was just going to walk away, but the few steps she'd taken stopped right at his side; he could already feel the snark escaping from her lips before it actually did. "Thanks for the advice." She nodded. "I'll keep it in mind, I hope everyone is as friendly as you are, tall guy." She paused. "Try not to kill anyone on your way to class, yeah?" The amusement in her smile never wavered; it actually shifted into a smirk that was as much victorious as it was sarcastic and pretentiously innocent; such a treat that made the boy's brows raise in almost a mirror of the motion she had done only moments prior. And then the girl's head shook once again and she walked away; Isaac didn't miss the manner in which her fingers quickly attempted to search for the map of the school the principal had surely given her.

If it had been any other day, Isaac might have actually tried to find out more about the girl, because she was, in three words, very fucking attractive; he might even have told Scott about her, asked what he should do, _if _he should do anything at all. Maybe he'd even asked Allison to ask her father to give him any pointers on British people, maybe even approached Lydia with the question.

But it wasn't any other day in Beacon Hills, and the horrors that made the pack nervous remained unknown. Stiles remained in the hospital, Danny was still dead.

And in that mournful day, to Isaac Lahey, it all felt like it was just the beginning; and the first impression he could or couldn't have on a new student was the very least of his worries.

**To Be Continued.**


	7. Chapter 7: Don't Diss the Jeep, Scott

Everything had been black; completely and endlessly black, and suddenly Stiles became aware of noises, even if they were barely any. Steps from plastic soles against linoleum floor, the creaking of doors opening and closing, a couple of whispers here and there; but the most prominent sound had been that of the whoosh of blades cutting the air from the air conditioning or heating on the ceiling above him. He couldn't remember where he was; how he'd gotten there, what _day _it was… but he knew he was awake; or at least he thought he was; it wasn't as if he hadn't thought he'd been awake when he was in a dream before, but he thought that time was different. His head felt light, clear and unburdened, his breathing came unjaded, soft intakes and exhales of bunches of clean air that brought full life into his body, and, for the first time in what felt like forever, Stiles felt as if every limb of his body had rested better than ever.

Movement; he could move. He did so slowly and stopped when a fire-like stinging overpowered his forearm. And then, as if the pain had brought forth everything he'd momentarily forgotten, his peaceful bubble of calmness burst as his eyes shot open to make sure he hadn't somehow pulled on the stitches on his arm. He remembered it all; the inability to sleep, the nightmares, the black smoke that had followed him around… the accident.

Suddenly moving felt like a bad idea. A small red spot shone bright on the bandages on his arm, and he let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. It wasn't too bad, the pain, so everything was probably okay; but as his body became more and more aware of his surroundings and his own pain, he realized there was a spot at the top of his forehead where he could feel light stinging too. It truly was as if with each spot of pain his body started feeling he could remember more and more details of what had happened. His Jeep, it was resting on its side at some part of the road, and he'd ran to the hospital with adrenaline running through his veins serving as the best natural sort of morphine all throughout his body. And until he'd risen his undbandaged arm to feel the spot at the top of his forehead where he'd felt a stinging pain, he hadn't realised just how damaged he'd come out. Nothing broken; obviously, or the pain wouldn't be so... dull, but a couple of scratches here and there. The worst of which was his arm; that Melissa McCall had wonderfully stitched and bandaged. He felt tired, suddenly; tired but thankful to have come out of an accident like the one he'd been in with nothing but scratches. And though he felt rested, a part of him continued to feel tired. Like there was this nagging part of his brain that continued to call him stupid for having woken up from the sedative induced sleep, because slumber that peaceful clearly could only come from there. That as soon as he was able to leave the hospital and sleep in his own room the nightmares would return, or even worse, the smoke. He closed his eyes, whishing, as if it worked that way, that he could go back to the peaceful sleep he'd just come out of; if only for an hour or two more. Nerves were also part of the feelings that had decided to take over him when he realised he couldn't fall asleep again; would the dreaded smoke come haunt him while he was alone in a room? Did the black smoke exist _at all_?!

Of course, moments later his father came in with a worried face and a doctor following behind him. It had taken most of the night to talk to the doctor, and a little bit more to talk to his dad into relaxation enough for the Sheriff to leave for work and leave his son in the care of the doctors and nurses of Beacon Hills Memorial. After that Stiles didn't dare move in fear that one of the many scratches on his body would start hurting again. He never liked pain, but now less than ever. It only added to the mountain of things he had to worry about pretty much _daily_. Regardless of his no movement policy, his head flicked quickly in the door's direction that afternoon the moment a soft knock echoed toward his ears from the door; halfway scared that it was the smoke coming to haunt him, or any other monster getting ready to split his soul in half, if that was even possible.

But no, his tired watery eyes moved from their blank stare on the ceiling to the door that suddenly opened. Blinking repeatedly the moment Melissa McCall appeared through the door, Stiles managed a very tired smile. "You have a visitor." She told him with a grin, patting the door's wood twice before stepping back and opening the door completely.

The idea of a visitor made the amber eyed boy attempt to sit a little straighter; of course, he was an idiot. Forgetting completely about the stitches on his arm and propping himself up on the bed with said arm had been his worst idea yet. He didn't even last one second leaning on that arm; instead, he pressed all his weight on the other, and sat as straight as possible, placing his suddenly pulsating arm across his stomach. When his eyes rose again toward the door they fell on his best friend, Scott McCall, and a smile as tired as any kind of smile he managed as of late, lifted the corners of his lips. "Hey, Scott." He greeted, and was only able to yell a "THANK YOU, MRS. MCCALL!" in the nurse's direction before the door clicked shut.

"You look awful." Scott announced, walking into the room, and not even thinking twice about stepping closer to his friend's bed with worry illuminating his every cell.

The most quiet of laughs left Stiles' lips the moment such candour left from his best friend regarding his appearance, and that laughter turned into a short wince the moment muscles only used for laughter moved his cheeks in a place where there was a little, yet still annoying scratch. And that was all it took for Scott to quickly allow his own hand to fall on his bandaged arm's digits; not even seconds later, flow-like black veins started appearing from the wolf's fingers up toward his forearm. And Stiles tried, he _honestly _tried not to sigh with relief the moment the pain started dissipating with Scott's hold; it felt as if some sort of morphine worked itself through his body in no more than two seconds, or as if the wounds he'd had weren't even there in the first place. "So _that's _what that feels like." He said, making Scott smile regardless of the short agony he suffered for his friend. "I always wondered." Stiles admitted as he sat straight and tired on the bed, letting out a thankful scoffed breath with a smile across relieved lips.

But then Stiles' eyes lifted to meet his best friend's, and worry instantly crossed his features due to the manner in which Scott grimaced, and he couldn't help but attempt, in some discrete manner, to pry his arm away from his best friend's hand so he didn't have to feel such a pain anymore. Discrete, because he decided to speak in order for the alpha to not concentrate too much on his movements. "Guess I finally look how I feel, huh?"

Of course, Scott caught up. "Stop." He said, shaking his head and holding onto Stiles' hand for a while longer. "What happened?" He asked, making Stiles sigh and plop his head against the pillows once again while his brain worked in overload to attempt to come up with a believable explanation.

"Uh, I..." A very short scoffed breath left his lips as his head shook from side to side against the cushioned pillow and his eyes fell from Scott to his bandaged arm. "I had an accident on my way to school yesterday." Clearly half the truth would suffice. Of course, almost instantly Scott's face twisted with worry once again. "Don't worry, my Jeep had the most damage." Stiles comforted. "All I got was this." He informed while lifting the undamaged arm and motioned to his scratched up face as if he were a painting instead of a human being.

The truth was that Scott had been worried from the moment Stiles hadn't made it to school the previous day, but his mum had told him that going to see him at all in the hospital would be for nought, since his friend was asleep. So he'd waited, having to endure the eminent worry of him and his friends, until the moment he could come and see that Stiles was okay for himself. "Maybe you need to get a new car." Scott said with a shake of his head, pulling himself out of his worried reverie and taking a seat on an empty space of the bed by Stiles' hips.

That was all it took for a breathed scoff to escape Stiles' lips. Enough to almost make the boy become able to ignore the sudden little headache that beat against his brain. His undamaged hand lifted to run gently against his forehead as if that touch alone would make the discomfort dissipate. "Be nice, Scott." He snarked. "It's not the Jeep's fault that its owner is a complete klutz." Suddenly, though, as his eyes travelled around the room in a feigned roll of annoyance, he realised that it was near midday when his eyes fell on the clock. He had actually fallen asleep without realising it and had slept almost half a day? "Wait..." That wasn't the only thing that had bothered him. "Scott, what are you doing here? Is everything okay out there?" _Aren't you supposed to be at school? _He completed in his mind, studying his friend with curious and equally concerned orbs.

"Everything's fine." Scott replied, shaking his head. "Apart from Danny's death, as you know." He paused, sorrow crossing his hues in a whim for a moment at the memory of their deceased friend. "I just came to make sure you were okay—Stiles, stop!" Scott said with a commanding tone and a half amused smile because his friend had once again attempted to pry his hand away from his hold.

"Scott, please." Stiles started, for every single attempt at trying to make his best friend stop suffering for him were easily pushed away by Scott; everytime he tried to escape his grasp, the alpha's obviously stronger hand held onto Stiles' arm to a point where he had only two options, one of which was to give up and let the boy suffer for him, regardless of the clear relief that his help brought him, and the other... "I'm fine, okay? No bones broken, just scratches; just this." His free hand motioned hurriedly at the arm Scott held and his face, all in a giant only slightly frustrated circular motion. "I'm _so _okay that I was actually even able to walk here from the car crash." He lied, hoping for his sake that Melissa had actually kept his secret. Because for some reason he couldn't exactly put his finger on, Stiles had decided that Scott would never find out about his black smoke adventures. _More like nightmares. _He couldn't know about those either, since most of them involved said black smoke.

But of course Scott's lips emitted a disbelieving hum as his head shook a couple of times. "What did the doctor say?" He could smell the fear off of his friend, and it worried him more than anything.

It was a look Stiles did not miss; a look that made him sigh and his head to shake for a moment as his free hand plopped against the mattress. "He thinks I'm lucky I came out almost unharmed." He admitted, remembering the talk he had had with his father and the doctor the night prior. "I'm scheduled for an MRI later today." He paused, finally looking in Scott's direction again. "But your mom told me I could go home tomorrow morning. She said I'm only here for observation."

To this, Scott nodded. "Is your dad coming to pick you up?" He wondered, forbidding himself from letting go of his friend's hand even as he manoeuvred to climb on the bed Stiles rested on prior to getting under the covers, much like they had done many times before when they were kids.

And it truly was as if suddenly Stiles was thrown back in time to one of the many times he and Scott had spent together hiding in blanket forts, or even under his bed when they were kids and things got too scary in real life. He couldn't really fight back the smile that broke at his lips, even though he did try as he moved over enough for him _or _Scott to fall off of the bed even though it was rather narrow for two people; this time being smart enough to use the unwounded hand to propel himself. "No," he shook his head. "They're being really hard on him in the station. I think he's got some sort of supervisor over there, and whomever it is won't let him leave."

"I can pick you up." Scott quickly said, looking at his friend with concerned eyes.

Stiles nodded once and lifted a shoulder in a shrug. "I was going to take a taxi, since my Jeep's all but wrecked, but that works." And attempting to be discrete once again, Stiles tried tugging his hand away from Scott's hold once the grimace on his face became permanent.

"Alright." He nodded. "I'll come pick you up tomorrow, and we can go for ice cream." But just as soon as the offer ended, a sudden look of slight frustration crossed his features. "Stop trying to move your hand away, goddamn it!" He said, nudging Stiles' hand slightly and only resulting on a chuckle from the injured boy and a shake of his head. But then the boy somehow managed to push himself to the side in order to not crush his friend's arm under him. It felt nice to be able to feel something familiar, something that brought him an actual sense of safety the way he had been lacking for the past countless nights due to that horrid cloud of terror hanging over his head binto his unconsciousness. It was only a few moments later, after a comfortable silence between both friends, that Scott spoke again. "You look tired." He stated. "Maybe you should try to sleep."

Instantly, Stiles shook his head. "I've already slept, I'm not tired." Only the first part was the truth.

And Scott caught right up. "Stiles." He said in a somewhat warning tone.

"No, seriously." Stiles' brows shot up. "I slept almost a day, I'm _so _completely wide awake, I don't need—"

"Stiles!" Scott said, forcing the red of his alpha hues to shine brightly for his friend's benefit even if a smile remained across his lips. "Sleep, okay?" He encouraged. "We can talk tomorrow. There's some stuff I want to tell you, but first you need to rest up."

One look in Scott's deadly reds of horror, and wolf or not, Stiles had no say in what he could do. Not because he felt compelled to do it the way Isaac had once described it to him in a curious conversation, but because he truly didn't want to make Scott, a) angry, or b) turn to some other tactic of convincing. So, instead, mainly to avoid going into the details of how thankful he was for Scott's help, for he was sure his friend could read that in his eyes anyway, Stiles replied to his last words. "Fine." He nodded. "I'll sleep, but you better have planned some French fries in that whole ice cream deal, 'cause the food here sucks." He joked; but he knew that Scott was right. They had to talk. And just like the doctor and his best friend had told him, he had to rest, whether he wanted to or not.

Because he knew he would need all of his energy if he was going to find out what his haunting black smoke meant all on his own.

**To Be Continued.**


	8. Chapter 8: New Girl

First period, once he had actually gotten there that is, dragged on in a slow and steady pace for Isaac Lahey, providing the perfect hideaway for his thoughts to wander off on their own; wandering off to make the structure of a spider web inside of his head. One stemming vine of the web was prioritized around Scott and where he was, what he was doing, if Stiles was okay or not. Another string sought out to think about Allison; wondering if she'd managed to make it to school that day as well. He _had _seen Lydia Martin in the hallway post collision with the new girl, and on every whim Isaac hoped Allison was there as well. _Where Lydia is, Allison is, right? Don't girls travel in groups like that? _

There was a distinct branch of the web focused on the words spilling from his teacher's mouth, preparing him to have an answer ready on the off chance that she called on him; unlikely, but not impossible. Lastly, he had a small vine of the web dedicated to the very collision he'd suffered that very morning. It had been horrendously obvious that the girl was new, and he idly wondered if he had been her first interaction at Beacon Hills High; if such were the case, then he genuinely believed that sucked for her.

The thoughts had carried him away into a hazy mindset; lost in a world of swimming thoughts, and it wasn't until the obnoxious ringing of the transition bell that he dwindled back down to reality. He was the first out of the classroom with the prying thought that he would be skipping second period. Romeo and Juliet was the most cliché romance Shakespeare had ever written, in his humble opinion, and he had read it plenty of times prior, enough to skip the heavy introduction from his overzealous teacher. Once the hallways emptied, though, Isaac was reminded that the school would call his guardian, Melissa McCall, if he was marked present for one class and absent the next; and wasn't the whole point of him being present that day _not _worrying Melissa? Well, with that thought in his mind, Isaac turned away from his prior stride for the rarely used library, and meandered right back down the hall for literature.

He didn't walk into the classroom until _after _the tardy bell had rung; what he had wanted to do was make straight path toward his empty set of desks completely unnoticed, and blend himself in for the period as well, but luck wasn't on his side... as usual. "Ah, Mr. Lahey!" Came the voice of the Literature teacher once he'd taken a few steps toward his seat. "Nice of you to finally join us."

With a spin on his heel, and a tick of his lips, Isaac popped his mouth open to utter and apology, which was useless for two reasons. The first being that the curly haired brunette he had collided against that morning was standing near the teacher's desk, hugging her books to her like she'd done earlier; the second being that the teacher beat him at finding words. "Since you seem to like roaming the halls so much, why don't you show Miss O'Brien around the school?" He said. "Do something useful with your reading period besides sleeping, huh?"

"I... uh—" He'd started, he was about to argue, say he was planning on practicing lacrosse or something like that, but the quirk of the teacher's brow made him second guess himself; so did his words.

"Why don't you start by showing her to her seat?" It was with a puff of his cheeks and a sigh that he nodded and finally allowed himself to look in the girl's direction; it wasn't a long glance, though it was still enough to see a small embarrassed grin crossing her features, he simply motioned with his head to the back of the classroom and went on his merry way in that direction without waiting to see if she was following. Mainly because the whole class was staring at _him, _and he didn't like it. "Welcome to Beacon Hills, Miss O'Brien." The teacher said, and Isaac had to fight the urge to roll his eyes at his feigned welcoming voice. _Yeah, welcome to the school that has a higher rate of deaths than grade levels. _Isaac thought, manoeuvring to the linked seats and dropping himself into one.

The girl's head bobbed in a nod to his welcome and turned around away from him, hugging her books tighter against her chest before walking quite confidently toward the seat Isaac had taken; though it became _very _evident to the boy that she was as excited of having to be assigned a guide as much as he was to _be _the guide she had been assigned to as she set her books on the shared desk before settling on the empty seat by his side. "Great to see you too, tall guy." She said in that distinctive accent of hers, looking in his direction for a second with a small amused smile crossing her lips before looking toward her books.

_Tall guy. _It'd slipped his mind earlier when the girl spun that nickname his way, but in the cold of the collision, and then taking evasive action, Isaac had completely forgotten to even mention his name to her, who was just 'that new girl' to him. Being social wasn't exactly an old thing for him; socializing and talking with people, making friends. Nope, that's what his pack was for; _they_ were his friends.

Still, the girl had been plowed down by him, the least he could do was tell her his name and hope for the same in return. Otherwise, whatever apology he could utter out would wind up sounding half assed and lacking of any care. "Isaac." He said, crossing his arms atop the desk and chancing a glance in her curly tressed self. "Or, 'ay, Lahey,' works just fine." The words were uttered in hushed tones, eyes focussed forward as if solely by looking at the teacher it would make it impossible for him to see that he was talking over her lecturing introduction for Romeo and Juliet. "And you, new girl?"

He was surprised to see a motion at the corner of his eye, making his eyes move away from the lecture, toward the brunette. She was smiling, any sign of amusement drained from her features, she was trying to be _friendly, _and her hand had raised in his direction. "Brittany." She said. "Or Brit, or Melody, or Mel; whichever you like best, I don't mind."

With his brow quirked, Isaac kept his focus away from the teacher and attempted to push his thoughts of Danny, Stiles, and Scott to the back of his mind; instead, he chose to focus on the two opposing names the girl had given him. Maybe she was a theatre lover and chose to go by a penname; _or is that authors? _Or... maybe her full name was Brittany Melody O'Brien. Narrowed hues challenged an inquiry at the choices before a deft hand grassed hers in a minor shake. "Well, _Brittany_," He nodded, "for lack of care earlier... sorry for steam rolling you over in the hallway." He let go of her hand. "Nice to see you made it out without injury." A subtle nod of his head accompanied his words before he rested his chin atop the cross of his arms, eyes honing in on the dents at random and faded doodles decorating the desk.

Her hands stretched on the desk, eyes looking in the direction of the teacher the same as his. And he thought that was it, that her attention was on the teacher, but a whispered scoffed breath left her lips seconds after his words, and in a tone much like his, she whispered a response. "You say that now, but I've got this pain at the lower part of my back that I _think _might bruise." The words left her easily and without thinking, not at all surprising the blue eyed boy at all.

"I hear ice solves that problem." He stated, sitting up slowly shortly after. "So does keeping your eyes unglued from a sheet of paper." Though his eyes continued to focus forward, the faintest of grins ticked just at the very corner of his lips. Whether Brittany was being earnest or not was beyond him; though he could only detect sarcasm from the brunette sitting next to him. It was with a prolonged sigh that he dipped his hand into the backpack that rested on the flood amidst their feet, lazy fingers fetching out the first notebook they could rest on. Slides illuminating the blackboard signified that the class would be taking notes; taking some participation grade for writing down useless facts that no one would ever revisit. "Got a notebook, or do you need paper?" He asked her, eyes flicking in her direction. He didn't have to enjoy the task of toting the girl around the school for an entire forty minutes, but it wouldn't kill him to push other thoughts aside long enough to show her some kindness that she clearly deserved on her first day in Beacon Hills High; especially after the incident earlier that may or may not have bruised her.

A rather diverted smile crossed her lips as her head shook, eyes falling to the desk under her hand and the ends of her curls dancing along with her negative motion, making Isaac's brow lift as he watched her reach inside her shoulder bag for an equally themed notebook –the outline of a white gas mask in the middle of a black cover and the words _My Chemical Romance_ adorning one of its sides–, and set it on the table. "I've got notepads."

Isaac's shoulder lifted in a shrug, turning away from her and allowing his eyes to look past her notebook toward his own. Some part of him wondered what the girl had with the band name that seemed to cross every piece of seemingly everything she owned, the rest reminded him that being obsessed with something wasn't a strange feat; in fact, it was found in six out of ten people in high school. "And, by the way." The girl said in another whispered note, pulling Isaac away from his mental statistics. "I do believe there's a rule that you're not supposed to run in the hallways, yeah?" His eyes fell on her, brows raised. "Or maybe you rushed reading through those too."

He watched her open her notebook to a clear new page, and he didn't miss the neat title that adorned the cover to announce that it was the notebook assigned to Literature. He had to fight the urge to scoff as he looked down to his own notebook; it lacked organization in every sense of the word. Pages were crinkled, some doodled on, the subjects varied; math on one page, and science on the page opposite of it, Literature and Music Appreciation just pages after that, some notes on Film and Fiction, and then scribbles from College prep; nothing but lack luster skills in cleanliness, which compared to the girl's notebook seemed to be an outright mess. "Rules are made to be broken, don't you know?" He tapped his pen on the blank page he had opened in his notebook, turning away from her the moment the lights dimmed to illuminate the glow of the projector pointed at the blackboard.

Even in the dark, it was easy for the wolf to make out every detail of everyone around him; including the girl at his side, who chanced a look at him and a roll of her eyes in feigned annoyance; feigned only for the amused smirk that adorned her lips even as her head shook and her hand moved swiftly in wording motions to easily copy what shone upon the blackboard. It made Isaac look away with a partly victorious grin of his own, doodling over his sheet of paper as if he were taking notes, when really, he was drawing a skateboarding chicken. It wasn't until he'd turned away that she decided to speak. "Maybe so, but last time I checked, bones are not."

The boy dully noted that he would have to have the notes the girl so eagerly wrote at some point the next day in order to have his participation grade, but the girl's words completely interrupted whatever thought he'd been having over asking Allison for her own notes later on the day, and made him earnestly unable to do anything but crook a minute smirk at Brittany's retort. _Witty, aren't you? _It had almost become a personal challenge to beat her at her own verbal game. "Since when did a bruise equal a broken bone?" He wondered, shaking his head and adding a second image to his doodle, making it into a small comic. "I think it's best if you don't take Anatomy."

Even that simple word had thoughts of Danny pressing to become forefront in his mind regardless of how hard he'd tried to suppress it; Danny'd taken that class, Isaac could remember him asking one of his Lacrosse team mates for the assignment one day. Lacrosse may just be a sport, but the team was almost like a little family, and Danny was gone; it did make Isaac sad regardless of how little he spoke to him compared to most of the other guys. The sorrow of the school radiated through everyone, unignorable, ever-present, and every time Isaac allowed his mind to slip into such a void he could feel the sorrow beat into his own brain and heart himself.

It was exactly why such thoughts had to be pushed back and away until he could talk to Allison or Scott, because there were some things that simply didn't add up, and if the conversation he had had with Scott the previous afternoon had led to anything, it was the belief that Danny had not, in fact, died of his own accord. "Why, are you taking that class?" The girl's voice shook him away from his reverie; a thought pond so deep that he hadn't even noticed the girl's quietness until she had spoken once again. Silence had been his companion, and he realised that his hands had delved into tracing over the little blue lines that lay across each smooth sheet of paper in every single spiralled notebook in the world.

He'd been lost inside his own mind, and he figured Brittany had simply been occupied with the notes illuminated in front of the class; not that he even thought much about her with all the mind strings webbing inside his brain already. He knew most new students, and studious ones like his friend, Lydia, would be as set on copying every note the way the new girl seemed to be, but the silence had been slightly too long. It made his brows pinch together and his eyes shift in order to look in her direction with a seemingly confused expression that wasn't at all feigned due to the question she voiced in his direction. "Nah, Chemistry is my preferred lab." He replied, noticing the lack of snark in his own voice and feeling somewhat self conscious when the girl's surprisingly blue hues looked away from her notes and in his direction, lowering to his notebook and then lowering toward her own notes while a soft shake of her head displayed her disapproval over his lack of note taking. The motion made Isaac's brows raise and a sigh escape his lips. "Anatomy is for the real smart people." he informed her while pushing his notebook aside to flip it shut in order to pry it away from her disapproving orbs. "Like the ones who want to become doctors and such." Gentle hues flitted towards the clock that hung on the wall, watching the second hand tick by.

_Did an hour really go by that fast?_ Isaac wondered; the bell was two minutes, maybe one, from ringing, and he deemed that close enough to slip his supplies right back into his bag, slender digits tapping an impatient rhythm on the table and unable to miss the girl's suddenly accomplished look when she set her pen down with a little grin crossing her lips; he looked down toward her notebook. Not only was it incredibly neat, handwriting curvy and fancy in ways he would only remember seeing in movies of stories dated in the fifteen hundred's, but it seemed complete; clearly she had actually finished writing everything that had been displayed on the blackboard, assignment included. "I decided to take biology." She announced, clearly willing to continue the conversation they'd invested themselves in and making Isaac's head shake slowly. "It's not the same as Anatomy, is it?" She asked, moving swiftly in order to place all her things away into that black shoulder bag of hers.

"No, Biology is cells and mitosis." He stated. "Anatomy is... well, muscles, skin, organs, bones... the extremities." That's when the bell rang; it was as if its ringing had been the go to a bull race, everyone around them started moving as if someone were holding a gun to their head and would shoot if they didn't get out of the classroom in the next ten seconds. He stood up, though, watching the girl look curiously around her with an amused grin on her lips; it was that glance in her direction that had Isaac remember he wouldn't be attending reading period that day, for he'd nearly started making his way for the door. He had to show the new girl around.

_Great. _The straps to his bag made smooth movements in the way they were flung over his shoulders, and slender digits wrapped around them, basing at the bottom just as a hand placement. Weight rocked back onto his heels as he turned in the girl's direction, patiently waiting for her to move; a few moments later, once all her things were neatly placed inside her bag, she held the two books she seemed to be happy to carry around with her all day against her chest, and nodded in Isaac's direction prior to moving along toward the exit.

The boy discovered the use of the two books when, a few beats later, he stood with the girl outside their classroom, debating hues ghosting left and right as he pondered which direction he could lead the girl in first. "Let me see your schedule." On cue, he held a hand out for the paper he required. It didn't take long for a surprised expression to raise her brows upward even though she opened one of the two books to take out the paper.

"Please?" She said, closing the book and offering the paper to him. From the other book she pulled the school's map. "Did no one teach you the two magic words when you were a child?"

Pressing his lips together with a slow exhale through his nose, Isaac faced the girl with a feigned look of innocence written across his features. "May I _please _see your schedule so I can, y'know, show you were your classes will be?" Again, he lifted his palm up and graciously took the paper she offered him. The map was there as well, but he disregarded it. Odds were that the classrooms weren't up to date, and he could map Brittany through the school probably easier than any map could.

He watched her place the map back in the first page of the two books she held and then watched her manoeuvre in order to place the two books inside her bag. Had she really just had those books out so she didn't have to fold her schedule and map?

Clearly showing the new girl around would be an interesting task.

**To Be Continued.**


	9. Chapter 9: The Tour

"Alright, so… left first." Isaac nodded shortly looking behind him for a few seconds in the direction he had decided to go. "I can show you the necessities, like the bathroom, the cafeteria, library, teacherless hallway…" His feet were already shuffling over the floor, carrying the boy down the left corridor as he spoke; deciding to ignore the victorious grin that took over the new girl's lips and feeling almost accomplished when he heard her slightly quickening steps to catch up to his long legs.

He was aware of her movements when she walked by his side; how she was fixing her leather jacket, how her black heeled boots clicked against the ground as she attempted walking swiftly and somehow able to do so gracefully as well. "Teacherless hallway?" She suddenly wondered, eyes narrowing shortly as her head tilted in his direction. "Why don't you pretend I'm new and have no idea of what you're talking about?" She requested. "Oh, wait." Her head ticked back shortly before her bright blue eyes lifted in his direction. "I _am _new and have no bloody idea what the hell you're on about."

Still walking, still leading the way past windows and billboards, Isaac turned sharp eyes on Brittany. "Are you just _new _or have you never been to school before?" He wondered quite rudely, brow furrowing. "That's where all the students hide out," he informed her, "stow away, you know? With no… no supervision?" With brows pinched questionably, the boy came to a stop at two doorways, one with a pink triangle, one with a blue triangle. Flitting eyes went from the girl at his side, to the doors, and back, lifting an arm to motion at the doors. "The better bathrooms."

He watched her eyes widen as his hand reached up to scratch over the back of his neck. _Struggling to make small talk here. _He thought, shortly annoyed with the new girl as he cleared his throat. She cleared her own, and if Isaac didn't know better he'd say she looked like she'd been caught doing something bad for a flicker so short he thought he might have imagined it. Her eyes fell to the doors he presented her with before looking around again; she took a long pause as she looked at her surroundings, maybe studying them, but Isaac could smell worry in her; her heart had sped up shortly, and then she actually spoke. "I—I was home schooled before I came here." She finally looked in his direction, hands wrapping around the strap of her bag a little too tightly, heart shortly slowing to the beat he'd heard before. Was she lying?

"Home-schooled, huh?" He wondered, though it was the perfect window to make small talk. Sure, he had never been _home schooled, _but he had been held back from going to school plenty of times before until viewable marks faded from his features, or his father was stable. The thought alone made Isaac's nose crinkle up in slight discomfort at the memory; eased by the knowledge that he was safe. "Alright, then, new girl." He said, feeling the discomfort dissipate as quickly as it had come, and finding his mind wrapped in the wonderings over the girl's lies moments prior. He still wasn't too good when it came to his werewolf senses, but he _had _learnt the tells of someone who was lying from Derek Hale; tells that had presented in the girl by his side seconds prior, and—

"Yeah…" She said, her whole demeanour suddenly changing as if a switch had been flicked; some sort of sadness radiating from her being, such an emotion that did not at all match with the smile that crossed her full lips, confusing Isaac completely. And for a brief while, the only sounds filling the now empty halls between Brittany and Isaac were the echoes of their feet thudding against the tiled floor of the hallways, his sneakers occasionally causing a squeak here and there. _If this is the end of our conversation skills we're in for one boring tour. _He thought, listing all the classes he'd read in her schedule off in his head as if it were to make a mental map automatically.

He had to admit, at least to himself; he was wary of the girl. And just when he started to think about all the silence ahead of them, debating on whether he was going to be able to push back thoughts of the pack completely out of his head, Brittany spoke up. "It was boring..." She started, making his eyes lift in her direction with intent curiosity. "...my only friend was my mum, so I begged her to let me come to school once we moved here."

"So this is really your first time in school, then?" He wondered, eyes leaving her frame in order to look in the direction he was walking; a couple of more steps and they'd be in the hallway he had mentioned earlier.

He watched her nod, lips twisting to the side shortly as her eyes lifted in his direction. "Basically, yes." She shrugged. "This is my first school."

"Scared at all?" He inquired; not fitting in, sticking out like a sore thumb, people staring, all things Isaac could sympathize with; so, focusing on _that, _he hoped he could at least make the girl's transition a little easier.

"No, I'm not—" She frowned, hands raising away from the strap of her bag until they rested crossed under her chest. "I'm not really scared." She paused, looking right at him. "More like..." He watched her struggle for words, searching for the one that related the most to what she attempted to convey. "...I'm nervous I'll fuck something up and make it proper obvious I've not studied among others in a very long time."

_In a very long time? _Isaac wondered; so had she been to school or not? He didn't want to look like that complete weirdo that picked out three words when he'd been given more than one sentence to focus on, so instead he nodded, frowning shortly and stopped right in front of the beginning of a hallway and motioned toward it with a hand. "Teacherless hallway." He announced. There were a couple of people there, sitting against the walls, in front of their lockers, or talking amongst themselves with the sort of misplaced glee and sorrow that could be the only emotion to reign the school days after the death of a fellow student.

"Huh." She breathed, her hands falling at her sides as her brows rose shortly. "By the way you made it sound I actually expected a vandalized hallway of some sort." She smiled, bringing that sardonic tone Isaac had recognised from the moment they'd met back into a shinning front across her features.

"Your next three classes are in a row down the next hallway." He admitted, head shaking over her retort and clearing his throat for a moment. "Shall we?" Blue hues skated down the hallway, ghosting over the few lingering bodies before landing on the girl at his side; who nodded shortly after and motioned with her head to the side, making Isaac nod in return and his whole frame to shift in order to resume the tour. "And, for the record," He looked back at her even as they walked, "we're teenagers, not wild animals." He joked, unable to stop the smirk that etched on his features at his own ploy of words.

A short and rather quiet scoffed breath left Brittany's lips in a quick motion as her hands tightened around the strap of her bag. "Say that to the herd of bulls that left the classroom as if something had pinched them in the arse." She joked, making the boy almost instantly snort and shake his head.

He thought back to the class he'd had with her, thought about the way the class had gotten up, packed their things and left at the dismissal bell. "That was just students being students." He admitted, breathing out a short laugh as they walked along. "Man," His hand lifted to scratch at the back of his neck. "I feel like I need to wrap you in bubble wrap to keep you safe in the halls or something." He nodded. "Swaddle you in scarves, I don't know, but you've got some getting used to."

When his eyes returned to the front he realised they'd almost walked past the main hallway; making his whole frame shift swiftly with the agility only his werewolf senses could bring upon, and linked his arm through hers, just as her hands tightened against the strap of her bag, and pulled her in a turn toward the main hallway; not at all missing the fact that her eyes widened shortly after the contact, and her throat cleared. It was such a sound that made the boy release his hold in order to walk alongside her once again, an apologetic gaze shinning in his blue orbs as his hands hid inside his jean pockets. "So you're telling me that everyone around here will _always _act like a bunch of wild dogs?" At least she'd spoken, attempted to break the bubble of awkwardness that refused to pop above their heads after that small moment.

So she wasn't comfortable with human contact either; yet another thing both teens seemed to have in common. He wasn't going to say that, though. "Bulls... dogs... any other wild animals we all remind you of?" The quirk of his brow and tick of his tiers was purely amusement. Isaac was just used to the hustle and bustle of the student life in high school; never in his wildest dreams, and he'd had some wild ones, would he have thought that the speed in school would throw someone for such a loop, especially someone who seemed to just catch on so fast, like Brittany seemed to do. "Basically, yes." He admitted, looking over at her with a shake of his head, feet jogging on tiptoes up the flight of stairs, fingers trailing along the railing. "But you might not want to call them that to their faces," he advised, "Wouldn't want you to experience your first fight."

"Aw, why not?" She sardonically wondered, following along the stairs with that little sideways smirk across her lips. "I'm a tough girl, I can take care of myself." The smile that adorned her lips this time was a playful one; one that could be as much serious as it could be jovial, making the wolf wonder what her intentions at such a statement were.

He didn't mind it, though; instead he expressed his amusement with a shake of his head before finally allowing a motion of a fished out hand to introduce the long stretch from left to right. "This here would be your main hallway for the day." He announced, watching the smirk on her lips turn victorious before her eyes shifted from one side of the mostly empty hallway to the next; the grin dissipating from her brims as she took in the wide stretched hallway in its entirety.

"Well..." She expressed along with a slow nod of her head, remaining silent as her eyes scanned every single detail of the hallway that was as familiar to Isaac as his own home. "Great." She paused, bright blue orbs finally landing on his own. "Thanks." He was almost surprised to see a genuine grin crossing her lips.

He had to make himself nod in response, forcing upon a retaliating smile as a lift of his shoulders expressed his lack of a better response. "Mmhmmm..." His throat cleared, forcing the silence to fade away with a continuation of his short explanation over the hallway they stood upon. "It's real simple from here." He said, pulling his hands free from his pockets and working on unfolding the schedule the girl had pulled from one of her books; priorly folded to fit inside his pocket at the beginning of the tour.

Fitting hues skimmed over the schedule again, just to make sure he remembered correctly and didn't get anything mixed up and accidentally ended up misguiding the new girl in her first day in school. "So your classes here will go..." Pointing down the left hallway, he started instructing her. "The class at the farthest end of the hall, on the right, for third period." He nodded, lifting his eyes to make sure she was listening; not at all surprised when he realised her eyes were dancing along the directions he pointed towards as he continued. "Fourth is the closest classroom right behind you, and fifth is to the right, second class on the left." He motioned with his hand like what he imagined an air hostess did within a plane, almost feeling silly. "Simple." He cleared his throat again. "Right, left, left. Then you've got lunch." Chancing a glance toward the stairs again, Isaac idly wondered if it was rue of him to not take her to each class specifically; but almost as quick he decided that if it wounded up getting her lost, then he would simply force himself to take the time to show her once again the following day. Though, in his opinion, if she was smart enough to prattle in sass, she could follow along easily. He looked at her again. "Back down the stairs I can show you the gym, cafeteria and auditorium."

When his eyes met her frame once again she was in the middle of turning around in a little circle and looking around toward every single spot he had pointed out; it was almost amusing as her hand lifted with her index pointing upwards and around, and Isaac had to fight back a grin to show for it. Until finally a grin adorned her features as a nod bobbed her head affirmingly, making the ends of her curls bounce with the motion before her lips allowed words to escape them. "See?" Her hand lowered, that sardonic grin returning across her lips. "You can be rather nice when you're not stumbling against us short people and being distracted instead of apologetic."

The snark bled through her words, and Isaac wasn't able to keep back the amused grin that appeared in retaliation. "Careful," he sardonically warned. "There's still the last part of the tour left, I could run you over by mistake." Matching her tone, he crooked a sideways grin onto otherwise settled features; a clear difference from his lack of social skills earlier. Not to say that he wouldn't snap right back into his reserved state instantly if needed be. "Right." He grinned when the expression that crossed her features was as unamused and defeated as he'd hoped. "This way, then." Sweeping his arm out in a mocked motion of what he'd done earlier when he'd told her to carry on her way, Isaac laughed silently under his breath and started back down the stairs, making for the main lobby.

A short silence ensued as the girl made a rather big show of studying the hallway and the stairs as they stepped down; but the same sense of nervousness radiated from her, the same half steady half quick heartbeat that confused the werewolf. All feats that made the boy be wary and curious, wondrous over her actions; maybe she was paying so much attention to keep from something else, like a distraction, Isaac was rather much of an expert in distractions. He searched for them many times, and this girl... there was simply something _off_. Was that true instinct from the trust he had on his senses or just his worry over the pack displaying itself in the forced activity he found himself wrapped in with the new girl? How could he be sure at all? Well, he couldn't; so remaining wary and watchful was the best he could allow himself to do as they both stepped off of the last step; synchronized steps echoing against the walls as they meandered down the hall in a steady pace; not rushed and not snail slow, just a steady and easy going rhythm, settling. "Alright, confession time." She suddenly announced almost as if it were a reply to what he had said before so perfectly mocking the motion he'd done that very morning. "Feel free to laugh if you'd like..." She paused, rather dramatically in Isaac's opinion.

His curiosity peaked almost instantly; something that showed by the manner in which his eyes lifted to rest on her features while worrying shortly in wonder over if the girl would want a confession from him as well. "I watched shows about high schools to prepare myself for today..." She embarrassingly admitted, her eyes resting on his with a grimace twisting her features, surely awaiting for his allowed wave of laughter.

Whatever he'd assumed she was going to tell him certainly hadn't been at all what _had _come out of her lips. Was that what had her so nervous and her heart so jumpy? The fact that she watched TV shows to get a feel for high school? Maybe laughing was rude, but there was just no way Isaac could entirely suppress the chuckle that slid past parted brims. "Those shows are entirely wrong." He announced, head shaking. "I hope you haven't taken _all _of your advice from them."

Her lips twisted to the side again, pushing back a grin before a shrug lifted her shoulder mindlessly. "Well, not _all _my advice." Then that smile shifted on that half playful half sardonic grin she'd worn more times than once since the moment he met her. "I mean, the rest of my advice I got from you."

Isaac had to emit another half amused chuckle as his eyes fell to the ground for the shortest of moments, lifting once again to make sure they were going in the right direction even while his head shook in response to what she'd admitted to. "Can't say my advice is all that great either." He admitted, looking in her direction once again. "But I hope it helps at least a little." He stopped short, then, just outside of the gym before tapping on the heavy set of doors; the ones that always remained closed on the off chance a flying ball came towards it. "Period seven: phys ed." He announced, easily slipping back into guide mode with a short exhale of a sigh. "Lucky you;" he teased sardonically. "You get it right after lunch..." He paused to look down the hallway before allowing his gaze to land on Brittany once again. "...which is our next stop." He nodded. "Then your last period is back in with Mr. Over-zealous we had earlier, for Film and Fiction." He forced a friendly grin across his lips. "That's my class too."

He watched her study the door and the hallway surrounding her as intently as she had the hallway upstairs as he leaned his frame against the door for a short moment and snickering at the speed with which Brittany had seemed to catch on to what phys ed after lunch meant, for she'd finished her gazing about with a grimacing frown in the direction of the door. "Ugh." The worded complaint was followed by another painful smile in the boy's direction. "You know, P.E. after lunch sounds like I might get to see someone barf before the semester is over." She mused, making the boy she talked to smile in short amusement as he nodded. "I'm definitely _not _looking forward to that bloody mess." A little laugh escaped her lips as her head shook. "But I guess it's nice to know I'll be able to look forward to at least knowing _someone _in my last class."

Of course he had to nod. "Mm, yeah, I've no doubt that you'll see at least one person throw up by the end of the semester." He shrugged. "But hey, at least it's only a semester, yeah?" Slender fingers hooked behind his back and drummed a rhythm along the metal of the door before he pressed his palms flat to push away from the cool surface. "Come on." He motioned with his head to his left. "Last place to show you: lunch." The same forced grin lifted the corners of his lips for a moment. "Should we head that way now? Before the bell rings and this door flies open and knocks you down again?" Curling a small grin, Isaac watched as the girl's eyes rolled in feigned annoyance to be proven only by the grin across her lips.

"Hilarious." So he'd keep the events of her graceful fall by his fault in his mind; it made for good conversation apparently; at least his social skills weren't as bad as he thought. So, with a self-proud nod of his head he motioned for her to follow along, headed for the short trip down the main hallway of Beacon Hills high.

**To Be Continued.**


	10. Chapter 10: We've Got It All Wrong

By the time Isaac and Brittany had made their way down the main corridor and halted just outside of the always-noisy, and always-busy cafeteria, there were about five minutes until the dismissal bell rang shrilly through the air; a few people already walking along the halls in anticipation for lunch break. Topics of conversation between the two had wavered between the extracurricular activities that were available in school and around Beacon Hills, like the ballet studio she seemed very interested in when he mentioned it; his affinity for scarves, which the girl had pointed out when she noticed the one around his neck, and his asking her why she'd want to start school halfway through the year. "Uh... Coach wants the last word, always..." He was saying, focusing on advising the girl as much as he could before the bell rung and he had to wonder if he had to invite her to spend lunch with him to avoid awkwardness. "So, don't try your sass on him."

She nodded, hands gripping onto the strap of her bag a little tighter. "Noted." She said, and Isaac was thinking over what else to say – what other advice to offer the new girl – when a rather familiar scent reached him from behind; relaxing his senses quite automatically, and even bringing upon a grin across his features. "You did tell me about him before, when you—"

"Isaac?" The moment the new voice reached them, it broke off the little bubble of speech Brittany had been focused on; Isaac's slender arms had moved to slack in a cross against his chest as brims parted to release a small chuckle at the reminder of what he'd told the new girl about Coach in mock advice when he'd crashed against her, before a faint tap was dealt to his shoulder.

Allison.

Crooking a grin, Isaac stepped to the side so he could face the short haired brunette without turning his back towards Brittany. Seeing Allison present at school turned into a bigger relief that he'd thought it would be. A sense of familiarity came with seeing his huntress friend. "Hey," He said, watching a small smile adorn her features at his greeting. "Nice to see that you're here." Without really waiting for her to reply, Isaac's arms fell to his sides; one lifting to motion towards the long haired brunette whose blue eyes were dancing between the two friends. "Allison, this is Brittany. Brittany, my friend, Allison." It wasn't really Isaac's fault that he was a tad possessive and overly protective of his friends; they were all he had.

"Hey, nice to meet you." Allison greeted, grinning shortly. "You're new, right?" She asked, brown orbs searching her blues with forced curiosity for a few moments.

A polite grin had taken hold of Brittany's lips, and Isaac watched as her hand started lifting to extend in Allison's direction while she spoke. "Yeah, nice to meet you, Alli—" But the attention his friend had given the new girl hadn't lasted long; in fact, it had not even been there long enough for Brittany to properly reply before she'd sort of interrupted her to direct words toward him.

"Isaac, could I speak with you for a moment?" She wondered, turning urgently in his direction; words echoing as urgent as the gaze weighting on her features. "It's about Scott." She said, in hopes to make her friend aware of the importance of the information she clearly couldn't speak of in front of anyone else.

He watched Brittany's lips twist a little to the side and her eyes fall on him; but with a passing glance from her to Allison, Isaac bobbed his head in affirmation to his friend's request; letting the bag clutched in his arms to drop to his side, easing the weight of the strap around his shoulders. Not to be rude, but at that current point in time, anything Allison had to say about Scott was important. And it didn't exactly take a mind reader to understand that some students might need some time among friends; clearly the whole school had more important things to worry about than the new girl, with the whole death of a peer situation blooming over everyone's heads. So she clearly decided to take that cue. "Well, thank you for the tour, Isaac." She said, looking down at the hands that wrapped around the strap of her back before lifting them to look in his direction and Allison's. "I'll see you in class," he told him, "and very nice to meet you, Allison." With a nod of her head, Brittany didn't really wait any longer before taking a couple of steps back from both friends in case they thought of speaking.

"Catch ya around, Brittany!" He called, lifting two fingers in a wave, watching her frame turn around and walk away, toward the opposite side of the hallway. With her figure disappearing into the meld of the crowd that now filled the hallway, Isaac turned fully towards Allison with question and worry etched deeply across his features. He suddenly felt like he'd been living under a rock for the duration of a week and the world had imploded around him. With all hope, Isaac pleaded with himself that Allison would be able to fill him in and console the worry he had for all the pack. "You skipped out early this morning," he started with a smile, "didn't even get one of my awesome pieces of burnt toast." Grin crooked, Isaac let his eyes scan the hallway for eavesdroppers prior to nodding his head toward the cafeteria for Allison to lead the way to somewhere they could talk.

As she smiled, Allison's mind rewinded upon the previous night; a night she had spent with Scott in attempts to comfort him over his friend being in the hospital. "You heard me, huh?" She said, walking along with Isaac towards the inside of the cafeteria, attempting to fight the blush that threatened to colour her cheeks the moment Isaac nodded. "I would have stayed, but I didn't want to wake anyone up." She admitted. "Shame I missed out on the burnt toast, though." As per usual, she seemed to have words ready to roll off of her tongue without missing a single beat.

"Don't worry." Isaac teased. "Stick around and there will most _definitely _be more burnt toast, if you're lucky..." Ticking the corners of his mouth up into an entirely too innocent grin, he flapped an elbow out to gently nudge his friend's side. She surprised him with a smile even as a short air of debate planted itself across her features; and not even a couple of seconds later, Allison sauntered off, making a graceful and quick stride toward the furthest tables in the cafeteria. Without hesitation, Isaac followed after her with no other word; she was graceful and languid as she slipped right through the crowd to the table, and he was bumbling around and letting people pass. By the time he'd reached Allison, she was already sitting down; something which he promptly followed along to do on a chair at her side. "Why do so many people still go to this school?" Isaac wondered, setting his backpack down on the floor by his side prior to allowing his eyes to finally rest on his friend's features. "Doesn't it scream 'doom' yet?"

At least that made a short chuckle to escape from the girl's lips. "Well, it's not like they put a warning on the pamphlet when you enrol." She joked, placing her own bag on the table and moving her chair slightly closer to his so she didn't have to talk too loud over the slowly filling cafeteria's noise. "'Welcome to Beacon Hills high school, the school you should never want to stay alone at night in unless you have a death wish.'" She cited with a raise of her brows while she crossed her hands on top of the table the way Isaac had as his shoulders shook with silent chuckles over the pitched brochure line she had chanted. "Did you see Scott before you came to school?" She, then suddenly asked, changing the direction of the conversation completely.

Of course, it was suiting that Allison would be worried about Scott regardless of if they had gotten back together a week or two ago or not. He wasn't at school, they were close, Danny's death loomed over everyone's head like a horrible reminder that life wasn't eternal, and Stiles was in the hospital. Everyone in school was sad, but everyone in the _pack _was worried. "I saw him, yeah." He admitted, lifting a shoulder and giving a nod of his head. "He had to wait for Melissa to wake up, I was able to talk to him for a bit before coming to school." He informed her, allowing another grin to illuminate his features. "I think they both praised the heavens for you, though." He nudged her arm again. "Coffee; good move on your part."

"Thanks." She smiled; not even waiting longer than a beat before she spoke again. "Have you heard anything about how Stiles is?" It was clear simply by her scent that she was stalling whatever inquiry or topic she thought of bringing up before, and Isaac was curious, but he knew Allison; she'd speak whatever she needed to speak when she was ready. So, for the sake of his friend's sanity, Isaac took a breath and went along with her question.

"Not really, I—" He cleared his throat. "Scott hasn't contacted me since this morning, and the only thing Miss McCall told us was that Stiles wasn't in any danger, nor too broken." He told her, watching some of the concern wash away from Allison's features. "Scott's with him right now." Brushing the palm of his hand over the back of his neck, Isaac pressed his lips together with a faint shrug; just a simple rise and drop of his shoulders that was barely noticeable as he looked over at Allison.

"Oh, good." She said, the flicker of a smile curving her lips for a second. "Good." Her head bobbed in a nod, and then a silence followed; it was rather obvious that she had ran out of subjects to stall with, and Isaac was about to ask, but only seconds before he did her whole demeanour shifted as if with the flip of a switch, aware that she finally remembered she had broken him away from his new acquaintance with the promise of a talk; an important one. "I've got to ask you something," She finally said, eyes locked on his, "and it's probably going to make me sound insensitive, but... well, your answer could feed on a theory Scott and I have."

The boy frowned, setting his hands, crossed, against the table once again. "Okay." He refused to let his curious blues look away from his friend's questioning orbs. "Go ahead."

She nodded. "Alright..." But then her eyes narrowed, and not even a second later her head tilted shortly. "First of all, are you okay?" She wondered. "About... Danny, I mean."

Isaac almost instantly looked down, suddenly studying the table as if it had become many times more interesting than anything else. "Uh, yeah, I—" He frowned, grimacing for a second with a downward pull to his lips prior to shrugging a shoulder once again. "I guess." He finally looked up in Allison's direction; watching her carefulness, observant. "I mean, I guess it's like... you get used to playing with a guy on the team, know all of their quirks and moves and stuff, and now he's gone."

Suddenly her hand found his, making his posture straighten and a soft sigh to escape from parted brims as rather shocked orbs looked up in his friend's direction. "You know you can talk to me if you need anything, right?" She wondered, and even though Isaac could see the genuine reassurance in her eyes, he could still hear the little jump in her heart; nervousness.

"Yeah, I—thanks." He said, grinning a little more genuinely, completely aware that she didn't want to ask what she had planned. It only made Isaac the more curious. "So... what did you want to ask?" He prompted; not at all surprised when her hand moved away. He watched her frown, gulp and look away.

"Right, um..." Her throat cleared as her frown deepened slightly, eyes flicking from her suddenly laced hands to Isaac's eyes and back down again. "You knew Danny enough, right? I—" Allison's whole demeanour threatened to shift in a confident direction as she cleared her throat again, nodding and sitting a little straighter even as she leaned closer to her friend in order to speak her next words in a lower tone than her usual note. "Did you ever suspect he'd commit suicide?"

Isaac didn't even have to think twice about it; his head immediately shook. "No." It was something he'd heard some of Danny's closest friends discussing in the locker room earlier that day; they'd been angry, saying that the Sheriff hadn't searched for evidence well enough, that it was all completely impossible, that... "No way." Isaac repeated as he'd heard, because he agreed. "I mean, sure, he was quiet most times than not, but there's no way he—he'd do that. No way." His head continued shaking, and he suddenly felt bad; a feeling that evaporated almost as quickly as he'd smelt the change of mood in Allison: from guilty to worried and thoughtful in a matter of seconds. It's what made him remember her other words; as well as the ones he had exchanged with Scott that morning. "Why?" He asked. "What's the theory?"

"Well, Scott didn't think Danny would do something like that either." Allison confided, continuing the low tone of her words whilst moving her own chair a little closer to her curly haired friend. "Before we heard about Stiles, he and I spent most of the day yesterday going through the recent suicide victims, and..." Her head shook, lids blinking a couple of times as if that alone were to make her point clearer. "...well, only two of them suffered from depression. The rest, both adult and teenager alike, they were all happy. Hardworking, many friends, not bullied or anything that would want to make them want to end their lives; their suicides literally came out of nowhere."

At this, Isaac leaned closer; he listened, partly concerned, partly unhappy and partly confused. Almost somewhat guiltily hopeful, due to the fact that maybe Danny had been a victim instead of having been so out of hope to want to end his own life. "But..." He frowned. "Scott and I talked to Miss McCall. She told us the bodies had no sign of a struggle; nothing but the marks of what ended their life."

"Yeah, but there's something else." Allison's eyes fixated on Isaac's as she remained in her position. "Most of the bodies were found a day or two of their deaths, right?" Isaac nodded, encouraging her to go on. "Danny's wasn't." She informed him. "I went over to the hospital yesterday to talk to Melissa myself and she told me that it had only been a few hours since his death when Danny was brought in, and she found something weird she told me she was going to tell Scott about." And she was going to say more, but right as her lips were parting to speak, her phone vibrated on the table. Isaac didn't blame her for so urgently moving to check her notifications. "Oh, thank god." She sighed in relief, a smile that lit up her face for a few moments that adorned her features with a couple of tiny dimples on her cheeks. "Scott's on his way to school." She said. "He says Stiles is okay; just a couple of cuts and bruises, but he'll be discharged tomorrow morning."

"Oh, good." Isaac's head bobbed in a nod; suddenly feeling like all of his worries and concerns were dissipating one by one and bringing brand new ones to light.

Allison was nodding by the time he looked up. "Apparently Stiles is only staying overnight again for observation." She sighed once again. "To think I was so close to him and I didn't know he was even there." Allison's head shook. "I should tell Lydia." And then she was starting to stand up.

"Wait, Allison!" Isaac's whole body shifted in the chair before standing immediately as his hand quickly shoot up to take her arm in order to stop her in her tracks and step closer. "The thing." He said, making her head tilt to the side after looking at his hand on her arm. "You said there was something Miss McCall told you about that she was going to tell Scott." He reminded her. "What is it?" He sounded concerned; of course, he was relieved that his Alpha was finally coming to school, but the manner in which Allison had been talking to him made Isaac think that maybe what was happening around the town was something on their end of the rope, a.k.a. supernatural.

"Right, sorry." Thankfully, Allison nodded and sat down again, regardless of if her fingers moved on her phone in order to send her best friend a quick text; almost completely sure Scott would have already, before looking up at Isaac once again. "I guess I should apologise for his not telling you." She grimaced shortly. "I told Melissa I could stop by and let Scott know, and... well, I _did _stop by, but... you know."

Isaac simply nodded; regardless of his affection for his friends, he wasn't the most patient of people, and her noisy nightly activities with Scott were the least of his worries. "Yeah, I know." He simply urged. "What is it?" He asked again, leaning closer to her once again in outmost curiosity.

"It's, um..." She frowned, gulping once and blinking her lids repeatedly for a couple of beats before stopping her hues on his blues whilst returning to her initial almost-whispering tone. "She said she found a black gooey substance slowly drying from Danny's ear." Allison finally confided; not at all surprised to see Isaac slightly taken aback by the strange confession.

"Black gooey—" He echoed, blinking a couple of times before frowning as the facts slowly started clicking into place; and even if he'd tried to, he hadn't been able to stop himself from showing as much concern as hope. "Wait, so you're saying you think this is—" A few kids laughed obnoxiously loud behind Isaac, making his head shift in their direction as if he suddenly remembered where they were sitting; so he rolled his eyes, yet when he looked in Allison's direction again, his words left in a tone mirroring to her own whispered utterance. "You think this is our kind of thing?" Almost instantly Allison simply nodded, refusing to take her eyes away from her friend's. "What is it?" He wondered with the same curious tone.

"We don't know yet." She sorrowfully admitted, but as instantly as a small frown had appeared against her forehead it dissipated, changing for the smallest of smiles on her lips and a shrug of her shoulder. "But it's something, right?" She mused. "Maybe we can help stop all of this." It was almost as if she were voicing Isaac's thoughts' which only made him smile with a grin to mirror her own. She was right, and Isaac was going to express as such when her mood shifted in another strange direction; curiosity. And without even another word, the wolf knew that his friend had dropped the subject to possibly be talked over when the whole pack was present. "Hey, um..." She leaned closer, surprising Isaac with a smile so genuine that it dimpled her cheeks wholeheartedly. "...so you seemed to be pretty friendly with the new girl." She teased.

The subject had definitely been dropped. He had to sigh, canting his head shortly so she would see the light roll of his eyes. The leading joke through the pack was that _he _was the loner; which wasn't entirely false, but... well, he talked! To the pack, sure, but it counted. His lips pressed together, ignoring Allison's amused chuckle as he allowed a sigh to slip from his lips in a puff. "I... kind of plowed her over before first, ran into her in second, where she was ordered to sit with me, and then that skeeze of a literature teacher basically told me that since I was late I had to show her around during third." She informed his friend, happy to see her smiling even if it was at his expanse. So he allowed her to laugh a little as he was reminded of the manner in which he had neglected taking even the first note down. It caused his overly innocent smile. "Soooo..." He started, making her eyes already narrow with recognition. "...after you've endured the Romeo and Juliet lecture in Literature, think you could lend me your notes?"

He wasn't at all oblivious to the concern and sadness around the school, but at least, now, Isaac could attempt to find comfort on the fact that he could maybe fight off and destroy the reason behind his team mate's death.

-O-O-O-O-O-O-

_**~Many hours later, in Beacon Hills Memorial Hospital~**_

_Click, click, shuffle, shuffle. _Stiles Stilinski's eyes flew open the moment he heard those noises. At first he wondered where exactly he was, unable to remember anything whatsoever as his groggy state took over his tired mind completely. See, Stiles was _not _a light sleeper; it usually took the Sheriff knocking on his door and yelling to make the boy wake up; at least such was the reality before the whole black smoke ordeal.

_Oh, right. _He thought, remembering it all much faster than the last time he'd woken up alone. The hospital, the accident. He sighed. _Click, click, shuffle, shuffle. _There it was again, the noise that had so easily awaked him. He remembered his best friend, Scott, having been there with him, and as he looked around, Stiles realized he was curled up in a ball in the hospital sheets nearing a corner of the bed, almost about to fall off; the place where Scott had been was now empty, and, as the boy pressed a hand to the crumpled up sheets, he realized they were cold. Meaning his friend had left a while ago. _Click, click, shuffle, shuffle. _This time he blamed the noise on the bed as he shuffled on it until he could lay in the middle, carefully, with his unharmed hand as to not pull on the stitches, before allowing his eyes to scan the room.

Stiles Stilinski was many things, and one of them was not stupid. He'd blamed the noises on the bed, but they had been the same as before. Everything was calm, quiet, still. Except, of course, for the rain dripping against the window. _Click, click. _The window. Stiles nearly allowed a relieved sound to escape from his lips; the clicking sound was the window, it was open, and the wind outside pushed it back and forth in spacious rhythmic motions. _Click, click, shuffle, shuffle. _He groaned. _Okay, so if the clicking is the window, then what the hell is that other sound? _He thought, eyes shifting away from it in hopes to find another logical answer like the one the opening had provided.

The thing about that second sound was that it felt eerie, familiar, and strange all in one; and it made the hairs on Stiles' arms raise on end with worry and fear. What was it? His heart started beating a little faster, he could hear it beside his ears; that, and his breathing: it quickened because of it. _Click, click, shuffle, shuffle. _"Who's there?" He asked, feeling almost stupid for having spoken, but his eyes continued to wonder around the room in search of that other sound as, with his good hand, he pulled his frame into a sitting position, gulping down the fear that suddenly tensed his whole body. Fear; it had become Stiles' latest friend. Or, not friend, really, more like the annoying co-worker one meets with every single day but one can't ignore due to the fact that he's, well, one's co-worker. And he sneaked up all over the boy whenever _this _feeling was around: the awareness that something wasn't at all right. _Click, click, shuffle, shuffle. _

And then it hit him.

He'd heard that noise before; a while ago, weeks, probably, and he hadn't thought much about it because at the time he had thought it had been nothing but a nightmare, and then a hallucination. It had all been before _it _had chased Stiles into his near death on that accident in the Jeep. It was the smoke, letting the boy know that it was around the way it had once done before: by mimicking the sound of the dirt falling on top of his mother's coffin. "I know you're here." The boy said with a shaky tone. _Click, click, shuffle, shuffle. _He could feel his eyes stinging with the tears he refused to set free. "What do you want?" He asked with his forehead wrinkling with a concerned frown. "Why are you doing this?"

Silence.

Complete, and still silence. Not even the sound of the rain hitting against the window, regardless of if Stiles' eyes shifted to make sure it remained; not even the clicking of which source he had figured out moments prior, no white noise, not any other sort of sound that should be existent in a hospital. It was as if suddenly Stiles had been dropped into a sound-proof bubble; a sound-proof bubble where all he could hear were his shaky frightened breaths and the beat of his heart against his eardrums.

And then he saw it; sneaking down in smoky waves from the closest air vent: the smoke. That horrible, black, dreaded, annoying smoke. It was there for Stiles, and this time the boy was not going to be able to stop it; he wasn't going to be able to run, or even move. The only way out of there was through the window, or the door of the room he had been assigned; but then what? Run like he had done before? Run, and run, until… what? Until he dropped dead from exhaustion? He'd been supposed to be safe, he had been supposed to be resting in the safest place in town, yet… "WHAT DO YOU WANT!?" Stiles yelled in its direction, fear and anger streaking his words. Could anyone hear him? Was the unnatural silence something that affected everyone or just him?

Well, none of it had mattered. The smoke had moved; quick, quicker than ever before, and all the boy had been able to do was scream. And even then, such a sound didn't last long; his voice gurgled and cut with the sound of _it _forcing itself down Stiles' throat, and he felt it too. It was as if he had decided to take a dive inside a burning home and swallowed, breathed with his mouth until every single spot of smoke was down. The fire of nausea scorched his throat, his stomach, making him wish he could run; move and gag whatever it was that had gone down his throat; but once the smoke had completely gone, swallowed forcefully, and he willed his hands and feet to move, they didn't respond; not to him.

The force with which the smoke had attacked him had made Stiles' body slam against the bed, and moments later, his hands, controlled by some… _force_ that _definitely _was not the boy's brain, moved in front of his face in a stretched motion, as if he were trying to make sure they properly worked. Stiles could think, he could perfectly well scream, but this time, nothing left his lips. _What the hell is going on? _He thought, breath shaking only inside his mind. _What's happening to me? _

That's when a horrible, throaty, devilish low laugh started escaping through his parted lips. "You're mine now, _Stilinski._" Stiles' voice said, but he hadn't wanted those words to leave his lips. The way his last name had been spoken echoing as if whatever had made his lips move had been testing the name for the first time.

_What's going on? _Stiles repeated, but, again, nothing left his lips. He was just an echo inside his own mind.

That laugh again; it made him sick. "No one can run from me, boy." It spoke through him. "_No one._" His voice sounded different too; deeper, rougher. "But you know what?" Stiles' own voice asked him, making the boy's fear overpower his bravery. "I'm going to make you pay for trying."

Stiles wanted to scream, but all that happened was that he was tearing at the walls of his own mind; like a prison. And the _thing_? The smoke that had taken over him? It just laughed that same throaty laugh. It echoed Victorious, it made the boy's whole body feel as if it were on fire, as if every inch of him scorched with flames he couldn't even move to put out.

In the distance, somewhere near the centre of Beacon Hills, a car with paint as shiny as if it were new was parked by the side of a road; wipers dancing from side to side like a quick-tempo'd metronome to rid the windshield from the rain. The hum of the engine nearly muted as the tempest echoed so loud that it almost became white noise against the pavement, even quieting the murmur of music that tooted at full volume from inside the car.

Music that made the echo of the wail a banshee by the name of Lydia Martin emitted, seem like nothing but a whisper in the middle of the night.

**To Be Continued.**


	11. Chapter 11: Little Headache

_How was he tired? He had slept for hours, and yet he still had the same dreading feeling reigning over him and his every sense. Lydia was beside him, her breathing calm, slow; his hand caressed the back of Lydia's upon his chest. The sun shone brightly upon the day, the first truly sunny day in longer than he wanted to remember; and he could recall his strawberry blonde girlfriend falling asleep in his arms, thus resting so comfortably against him. _

_He was tired, though. As if he had ran for hours on end, or as if he'd been attempting to move a giant piano made of stone all on his own. Simply exhausted; but he didn't want to sleep. No_, _he _did _want to sleep, but... he couldn't. Why couldn't he sleep? And why was he suddenly feeling a fiery urge raising inside him, like the heat of a bath full of water warming up his senses as every limb submerged inside it; only much warmer, stinging, scorching, urging him to push Lydia aside, wake her up and tell her to run. _

Wait, run?

_Why would Stiles want Lydia to run away from him? Why would she_ run_ away from him? He wasn't sure, but he felt a dire need to tell her while he still could. Yet his lips didn't open, they remained shut, only parting to let out a broken breath; it sounded bored, even amused. _Run! _He wanted to say, but why? "Lydia?" There, he'd said her name; yet it didn't sound urgent, it sounded tantalising, mocking. As if he were talking to a child or a stupid person. _

"_Stiles, don't." She said, her grip tightening on him. It made him laugh, only it was more of a chuckle, an amused one as if Lydia were a child saying something silly. "Fight it." She whispered; her head still resting on his shoulder, her hand's grip tightening on his clothes. _Fight it? _He thought, wondering upon the content of her words. _Fight what?

_But then he was moving, doing what he'd wanted before, to push Lydia away, but he wasn't telling her to run. He didn't even know he could move that fast. One second he was laying down, and the next he was straddling Lydia's struggling form. His hands wrapped around her throat and his lips curved into a twisted version of a smile. "Fight it!" She attempted to say from under his grasp. And he finally understood why she'd told him that. Why was he doing that? Why was he strangling the life out of one of the people who kept him sane day by day? "Stiles, you can fight it!" Her words came choked and short as she struggled under him. _

_But he couldn't; he couldn't fight what was happening, all he could do was scream and hear nothing come out of his lips, and even worse, see the life drain out of Lydia Martin while his lips emitted a horrific wave of laugher, regardless of if he was screaming inside or not... _and then the scream became more real; still internal, but more real, and Stiles' eyes flew open.

The first thing they saw were the white squares of the hospital ceiling, the bright white lights mixed with the early day sun stopping any shadow from appearing through any corner; if anyone had seen Stiles they would have thought he was resting peacefully, not bothered by any darkness; but what they didn't know was that the darkness rested inside him, trapping him. Just like in the dream. _Oh, god, was that a dream? _He wondered, feeling the edge of fear burn within him. It had to be a dream, it _had _to be.

And then Stiles was chuckling; the same twisted sound he had heard in the dream, the amused one, the mocking one. It was _it; it _was making him chuckle. It _had _all been a dream, but the horrible chuckle coming unwanted from his throat confirmed something for the boy: it wouldn't be just a dream for long.

Every single thing that had echoed inside him mind faded like smoke the moment there was a knock on the door; it had been as if, with the flick of a switch, everything that had happened the night before, or the dream he'd woken up from so suddenly had dissipated from his mind, as if it had never happened. "What's so funny?" Melissa McCall wondered with a smile as she slowly entered the room.

"I don't know." Stiles admitted, and he didn't; he remembered nothing, because _it _willed it so. "I just woke up laughing." He pushed himself up from the bed with his good arm, using the other one's hand to gently rub against his face.

The nurse shut the door behind her as the smile widened shortly. "Must have been a good dream, then." She mused, making the boy nod and gift her with a tired little smile. "Scott will be here soon." She announced, and that's when Stiles realised she had been carrying his clothes to shortly after be offer them to him, and then she slipped into a whole technical walk through about his checking out of the hospital; not that he was in any way new to it, but he nodded regardless and appreciated her help while he stared at the clothes he had to change into so he didn't leave and walk around in sweats and a hospital gown.

He wanted to remind himself to let Scott know that they needed to stop by his house before getting ice creams, for he _needed _an outfit change and a shower. _Needed. _Not taking a shower and walking around in partly bloody clothes wouldn't be something to not frown upon anywhere the two friends went to.

Melissa left.

As he slipped into bathroom, in which Stiles refused to take a shower due to the fact that he wanted to get away from the hospital as quickly as possible, he remembered the manner in which he had ran from the wreck that had been his car, and, in turn, the lack of air entering his lungs when he finally arrived to the hospital and Melissa greeted him. But the mystery remained, for there was one thing that didn't click in the memory: he couldn't remember why he had been running, or why the car crash had happened in the first place. It was like a blurry little detail that, no matter how much he tried to remember, he couldn't; in fact, whenever he _did _try to remember all he would get was a stinging headache and a strange horrible sore-throat-like tingle in the middle of his throat.

His reflection looked tired, extremely; Stiles was pale as it was, but now he looked almost see through. He could only hope the shower and some _real _food would give some colour back to his face. He coughed, wondering upon the source of the sensation of his throat. It was as if he had accidentally swallowed a large piece of candy and the phantom of the discomfort had remained; but he couldn't remember swallowing any pills, and even if he did, he knew how to do it so he wouldn't even feel them going down. So _what _was it? He winced; there was that piercing headache again. To say that he was finding all his discomforts annoying would be an understatement.

"Stiles?" His head was slipping through the hole of his shirt when he heard Scott's voice; a feat that made his eyes shift toward the door that would lead to his hospital room as he lowered the material of his bloody shirt over his torso.

Seconds later, Stiles stepped out of the little washroom in attempts to escape his pale reflection; the smile that lifted his lips was a tired one, but genuine nonetheless. "Hey, Scott." He greeted before clearing his throat; another attempt to get the strange annoying feeling away from his throat.

"Dude, I'm sorry I'm late." He said, the door to the room open behind him. "I slept through my alarm, and my mom didn't wake me." He said whilst watching his friend move around the hospital room.

"It's okay." Stiles told him as his hands shifted to fix his dishevelled clothes. "I woke up not too long ago myself." He admitted, keeping that tired grin across his lips for a short moment. "Do you mind if we stop by my house? I need clean clothes." For a flicker his eyes lowered, then rose to look in his friend's direction once again while the pads of his thumb and index pinched the fabric of his bloody and dirty shirt as if to display what he meant.

"Of course, man. No problem." Scott replied, nodding with a smile across his features before motioning shortly to the open door behind him. "I hope you're okay with having junk food for breakfast, 'cause that's what we're getting before the ice cream."

When Stiles approached him, Scott wasted no time on resting his hand on his unharmed arm, making a grin cross the boy's lips before a shake of his head forced an encouraging grin upon them. "Dude, quit it." He said, patting his friend's shoulder with his bandaged arm so he would release the other. "I'm fine, okay?" He reassured his friend. "Come on. I haven't eaten any good food in two days, do you actually think I would not be up to eating junk food? _Me_?" A sardonic scoffed breath puffed through his lips. "I'd have to be in a _coma_ for that to happen."

The motion worked, because Scott laughed; but, unable to help himself due to the relief running through his veins, the wolf moved quickly to wrap his arms around his friend, who chuckled painfully against his grip yet quickly after returned the gesture with a careful motion of his arms. "You worried us all, Stiles." Scott admitted, feeling the boy nod shortly, that same short breathed painful chuckle escaping through his lips as his good hand patted Scott's back. And it was then, when Scott's own hand patted against Stiles' shoulder, that a rather rotten smell reached the wolf's nostrils; reason enough to break the hug and hold his friend's biceps as a grimace and a frown invaded Scott's features. "What's that smell?" He asked; there was the usual anxious yet familiar odour radiating from his best friend, but there was also an uncomfortably rotten and putrid smell to accompany it; something Scott simply couldn't put his finger on.

This time, the chuckle wouldn't have been able to be stopped even if Stiles had tried, and it was followed by two coughs in reaction to the feeling in the middle of his throat. "Yeah, yeah, I know." He rolled his eyes in feigned annoyance. "I smell worse than you after lacrosse practice." He said, head shaking and finally walking away from the horrid hospital room with that pounding headache making his discomfort more evident.

-O-O-O-O-O-O-

It hadn't taken long, after Stiles had left the shower and his eerily tired reflection behind, he moved quickly to get dressed; he wasn't trying too hard, so he'd gone with khaki pants, a white plain shirt and a red hoodie. Sneaker clad feet stepped from one side of his room to the other in quick motions where he left order behind instead of mess; dirty laundry in the wash basket, all the things he'd used in the past fifteen minutes left where he'd first found them. He didn't even understand _why _he had bothered to do as such, but he had. The shower had relaxed him such that the headache had become almost ignorable, and he became almost sure of the thought that it might completely disappear the moment something sugary entered his system.

For a second, Stiles stood at his doorway, looking into his room as if he were making sure he hadn't forgotten something, which, by patting his pockets, he realised he hadn't; his phone was back in his pocket, his keys were downstairs, and his mind was still in the worried mindset it had been in moments after that pleasant memory he had recalled during his shower; the memory of that one emotional freak out courtesy of Lydia Martin, asking him questions over how nice he was to her, why he did the things he did, and so on; something that had only resulted on the boy blurting out most of his feelings toward her and had ended on their first _real _kiss a week after deciding to be together. A wonderful memory that had popped into his mind out of nowhere like a replay that had only worsened his headache, but pleasant for the memory alone, nonetheless.

His whole frame turned away from his room before his steps led him away into the little hallway that would take him down the stairs which, regardless of his tired demeanour, Stiles skip-stepped until he'd reached the lower level of the house; walking toward the living room where he'd left his best friend. "Remind me to be more careful from now on?" He requested of Scott the moment he saw his friend sitting on his living room couch; a small sardonic smile lifting the corners of Stiles' lips as he stood right under the doorway of the room. "Showering and getting dressed with one hand is absolute _hell_."

Scott laughed, his frame lifting from the couch and his hands moving swiftly to shut down the television he had been partly ignoring due to the manner in which he had been texting Allison. And after a couple of moments in which Scott attempted to leave everything in the living room the way he had found it, both friends were off and away from Stiles' house in the search of junk sweets.

-O-O-O-O-O-O-

It had all been good fun, letting Stiles go about his day, feeding off of his memories the way only _it _could, pushing his mind in ways that would satiate it's every need. Perhaps it's job should have been done the night before, when it had been able to control Stiles' every limb and thought, pushing forth images of what it's petty plans were, to just have the kid shoot himself with his father's gun, or hang himself, maybe even run to the roof of the hospital and fling himself from there into an impending bloody doom brought forth by its skills at taking any innocent soul into their own deathbed.

But no, not Stiles. Why? Well, he had been able to outrun it more than once; his room, his school, a mall, an empty road. It had been insulting; a kid, _just _a kid had escaped it with thoughts of fear and the wonder of his own sanity making its goal shift into personal waters rather rapidly. So personal, in fact, that the first thing it had done the moment it had taken over Stiles' young body had been to let him know just how it planned to make him suffer; how it would kill his friends, his girlfriend, and he'd feel every single drop of blood fall on his fingertips.

Not that he could remember any of that now, of course, sitting there in a small booth in the local dinner as him and Scott chatted away about each other's lives. Thoughts, forth and back, conscious and subconscious; it fed of them all. The memory of the first kiss Stiles had had with that popular crush of his, _since the third grade _echoing over every corner of his mind whenever a though of the young strawberry blonde crossed his mind; a panic attack cut short by the shock of her lips on his, followed by the vivid memory of the day he had asked her out, and that desperate kiss that Stiles had attempted to calm her doubts and fears with during that second week that made Lydia Martin number three on its list. Number three, because Stiles' first and second most important relationships were the ones he had with his father and the very best friend he enjoyed a bowl of ice cream with at that moment: Scott. The vivid memories of their preschool days in the sandbox were easy to retrieve from Stiles' mind, followed by the many times in which they had gotten in some sort of trouble together; the day in the forest when everything changed, and every single adventure or misfortune they had suffered together thereafter.

And Stiles' father, the Sheriff; well, his father was a whole other case entirely. The memory of the horrible family death was ever-present in Stiles' mind, whether he was aware of it or not, but it haunted him. Evermore when his father drank, or stared at him too long. The kid's mind was a highway of thoughts roaming faster than that of many people _it_ had taken over and killed; which satiated its needs faster than most. It's why it hadn't taken long before it had grown bored and tired of allowing the next to inexistent humanity inside it to allow the boy a couple of more minutes of peace from it before it even started with its plans.

Stiles and Scott were halfway through their burger by the time it had grown impatient; humanity had sixty percent of the blame, the rest was the eminent need to have everyone around the boy fooled into believing everything was normal. But _fuck _could Stiles speak; he wouldn't shut up! Even with French fries in his mouth or a spoonful of ice cream, he wouldn't stop speaking. It was exactly what had broken the levee for it.

In fact, it had grown so impatient that it couldn't even wait until the planned time to take over Stiles' mind again. It had planned on waiting until Scott drove him back home, maybe even have the Sheriff see him once before vanishing through thin air, but the impatience grew so much that it took the first opportunity it saw: when Scott stood up to pay the bill, followed by a quick stop to the washroom. It forced its power to reign over Stiles once again. It could see the reflection of the dark, endless beauty that its eyes were on the napkin supplier the moment it had stepped up; the spoonful of ice cream stopping on its journey to the intruder's borrowed mouth. "Ugh." It said, lowering the spoon right away, and blinking it's eyes in order to use the mask of the boy's amber orbs that shone humanly safe as it searched around for anyone that could be looking in Stiles' direction.

It only took a moment to make sure he wasn't being watched, and one more moment to disappear from the tiny diner with a chuckle and a smirk of Stiles' lips. Because finally, the intruder would get to have a little fun with its own borrowed hands.

**To Be Continued.**


	12. Chapter 12: The Intruder

Nothing had been clear for Stiles from the moment he saw deep black orbs look back at him from a napkin dispenser's reflection; it had all been a blur. In fact, most of it he didn't truly understand. Fading away from one place to appear at another, wondrous eyes shining upon new and strange surroundings while his whole body moved unwillingly and controlled by something that talked for him; it was as if his body belonged to it, and he was only the unwanted voice of the mind of a diagnosed schizophrenic. Was that what it felt like to have multiple personalities? To feel trapped inside his mind and hear someone or somet_hing _else speak through his lips in a different voice? Or move when he didn't will his body to?

It scared him, it stole any and every breath of a memory he could think of; borrowing them for its own purposes as Stiles thought of what to do, of what to say or how to force upon his release regardless of the horrible disability for him to even attempt trying to, for whenever he felt he was strong enough it proved him wrong. It whispered or shouted or tortured him by trapping him inside a vivid image created from figments of his memories; instances where the moment had been a good one being twisted by its horrid will to show upon a painful flicker of a change that more times than not ended on the death of someone the boy cared deeply about. Like Lydia, like Scott, like his own father, even like the rest of the pack; it reminded him repeatedly of what it wanted, of the revenge it searched and expected to receive relief upon while watching those very people he loved nearly lose their mind by Stiles' unwilling absence.

And the worst part for Stiles to witness was that _it _was enjoying every single second.

It had been funny for it, to watch them all, to see the way they scurried from one house to the next in search of the boy, even the woods. Each of his friends more worried as the days passed; some not sleeping, others considering drinking, others blaming themselves if they'd found his body dumped somewhere with no life already. Every instance kept _it _entertained, watching, listening; and even better, keeping the trapped boy inside his mind screaming, begging, and crying. All thought out to torture the very same boy. "Stiles..." The name left his lips in that rough tone that definitely wasn't him; but instead of continuing the tearing of his mental walls, both Stiles and the intruder were broken off by a whimper of pain echoing from steps away, making his eyes focus at its will on the girl tied to a chair in the middle of the warehouse it had decided to turn into its playground.

It'd been at least three days since it had stolen Stiles' body to use as its own, leaving Scott wondering where his friend had gone off to, and it had taken the intruder all that time to choose its next step; sure, it had spent most of the time enjoying watching all those people bump heads and run around in search of the boy like chickens without a head, but it had also spent it flipping through each page of Stiles' memory to see which card he could play that could bring him the most pain. The main card, of course, was the one he planned to play at the end: the death of every single person he loved brought forth by his own hands at the intruder's will. It was brilliant for it, but the dark eyed intruder needed more; and more importantly, it needed the eyes of everyone smart on the town of Beacon Hills to be looking elsewhere instead of at the boy it possessed, to have more fun, in a way; to make the moment of their realisation upon 'Stiles'' fault seem that much sweeter.

One of the things it learnt from Stiles' mind, among e_verything, _was the fact that he had seen his fair share of tragedy; all his friends had, really, but the boy more than most. Maybe it wasn't much of the amount, but the emotional connection he had to two of them. One, his mother, dead due to some horrible illness; something that the intruder could in no way mirror without having to possess the boy for years, which it was not at all interested in doing, of course. But the second, a death, a murder caused by one Jennifer Blake – or in more racist words: a darach –, was that of the one other childhood friend Stiles ever had; a girl called Heather. Stiles had had to see her dead body in the morgue after two days of hoping she was alive; after, in fact, almost losing his virginity to her, something that, unimportantly enough, he had lost to his current girlfriend. But the point was that the intruder could very easily mirror Heather's death; it would hurt the boy to know and see what his friend had gone through moments before she died, it would hurt him even more to feel it with his own hands; _but _it would also give the town something else to focus on while the intruder had its fun. Thus, it was shooting two birds with one stone.

It was what had brought them both to such a moment in the empty warehouse. A girl as blonde, tiny and kind eyed as Heather had been; actually the crying girl could very well have been her twin; was tied from hands and feet to an old wooden chair left behind by the people who had abandoned said building. Her cheeks were stained with tears, voice whimpering with fear. "Please, let me go." She whispered and cried once every few seconds, like a chant that would make her believe she would be set free just by willing it so. Dazed, probably, by the hit to the head it had caused with a big enough rock, enough to knock her out but not kill her, not yet. The intruder wanted Stiles to feel the girl's blood on his hands while it mirrored his friend's death to the T; three steps that would copy Jennifer Blake's so called sacrifices. First came the head injury, then came the strangulation, and then the final blow to end the art came in the form of a knife to the throat.

And it was taking its time with the last two steps because it seemed, as things progressed, that the act was as much a torture for the girl in the chair as it was for the boy trapped in his own mind; a feat that was purely confirmed when the intruder willed Stiles' hands to reach for the metallic string that would start 'round two' of the girl's torture and got the head splitting screams to echo from the little cage where the boy rested trapped. Screams that, if it were human, would most likely have given it a headache, instead amused it and made a soft broken chuckle escaped in its rough voice through Stiles' lips and echoed in the nearly empty warehouse while he stepped behind the whimpering girl and took one end of the string with each hand. "That's right, Stiles." It taunted. "Scream; no one can hear you, anyway." In a movement that lasted less than a blink, his hands wrapped the string around the girl's throat by its command, and pulled.

The girl sat straight, attempting to get away from his hold, suddenly more aware of everything as fear pumped adrenaline through her veins, no longer dazed by the bleeding wound upon her brow, gasping for breath, chocking gurgles echoing on the walls as she struggled to breathe while her lungs begged and burnt with lack of air. More tears fell down her cheeks, and a thin line of red crimson trailed down from the place where the string made contact with her throat; a reaction to the friction she'd caused by moving so much, making the string burn into her flesh. The smile remained unwillingly on Stiles' lips and never left, even when the movements stilled and the sounds stopped; it removed the string, wishing upon the survival of the girl with the means of copying the steps it had listed upon its borrowed mind. Willing upon her death until the last step of its plan and it could make the blood from the wound he would gift her with bleed on the boy's pale fingers.

The next part was the tricky one, though. Waiting; how long did it have to wait? How long did it have to listen to Stiles' screaming and pleading before he gave up and shut up? The answer to the second question remained a mystery, but the answer to the first... It was five hours later that the girl started showing any sign of being alive; she was trembling because of a cold the intruder didn't even feel regardless of how little clothing Stiles wore; though the hairs in his arms had raised, it had a feeling it had nothing to do with the weather. The metallic string it had been holding before the girl fell unconscious lay forgotten somewhere by the girl's feet, replaced in Stiles' hands by a sparkly metal knife; It leaned against a wall, flicking the dirt and dried blood from Stiles' nails with the sharp end of the blade, listening to the boy plead and ask that it stopped what it was doing, what it was _making _him do. In fact, the boy was so loud that he almost made the intruder miss the girl stirring shortly on the chair. "Ah, look, Stiles." It said. "Our guest is awake again." It pushed its borrowed body away from the wall in order to make its way toward the barely alive girl; twirling the knife on Stiles' hand for a moment until it stood only three steps away from the girl. "Hello."

"Please." The sound had been so quiet and broken that it had almost missed it; the girl's last plea for mercy. "Please." She said again.

It made it raise Stiles' brow in partly fake awe. "Well, colour me impressed." It spoke slowly, listening to its words in the boy's voice while taking one more step closer to her and kneeling before her until it could look into her barely open bloodshot eyes, her head almost hanging weakly to one side.

The hand with the knife lifted, making its sharp end rest under the girl's chin before it willed Stiles to lift it; a lone bead of crimson trailed down from the place the knife made contact, and once again, the girl whispered in a barely audible broken tone. "Please, stop." Her green bloodshot eyes moistened with fresh beads of water, tears wishing to fall.

All it gained was a scoffed breath to leave through smiling lips while it allowed the mask of Stiles' human amber orbs to disappear into the endless black that were its own. "You hear that, Stiles?" It whispered, slowly enjoying the manner with which the skin around the girl's intensely green orbs wrinkled and widened with fear regardless of how weak they actually shone. "She wants you to stop." It tilted his head, and only after another nearly silent chuckle left in its tone did it allow the hand with the knife fall at Stiles' side so it could watch the girl's head bob weakly into its prior hanging position. "Yeah..." Its borrowed legs lifted the boy in order to look down at the girl's weak frame, its dark hues observing her as she attempted to command her frail body to move. "I guess you're right, Stiles." It horribly replied upon one mental command and plead that continued echoing like a migraine inside Stiles' head. "We _should _stop." And of course it felt the minute relief echo inside its borrowed head, and it only brought upon a smirk upon the intruder's possessed lips. It had to laugh; an evil echo that shook the boy's whole body for a couple of seconds that stopped almost as suddenly as it had started. "Fun's over." It stated, and with no more words, it willed Stiles to move swiftly to stand behind the girl, take a first full of her blonde locks and lean her head back – thus, exposing the flesh of her neck enough for the hand with the knife to move slowly in a horizontal motion against her skin, which painted crimson art upon the hand that opened the epic wound on her pale throat.

Stiles screamed, because, just as it had planned, his full senses were aware at that moment; he could hear the echoing gurgles coming from the dying girl, he could see the way her green eyes looked up into his, void of any sense as the life slowly drained from her; he could feel the warm crimson liquid against his hand after it had taken its time forcing his hand to open the wound, as if he had been the one commanding his own body instead of the intruder.

Stiles had felt it all, and he was screaming in his head; crying so much that a slow tear actually slipped against his cheek and surprised it enough to suddenly start laughing. It had been when the intruder started realising something, something that made it smile even wider as the girl took her last breath: Stiles was strong, and because of it, every single one of its plans would make it harder to achieve. It meant a challenge; and it meant, above all, that in its opinion... the fun had just begun.

**To Be Continued.**


	13. Chapter 13: Three Is A Pattern

"Are you sure you want to do this again?" Allison asked Isaac with a set out expression. The longer Stiles went missing, the more antsy and on edge the domineering members of Scott's pack got; human, or not. Even Isaac was starting to feel strung out and at a loss each time they'd seek and come up empty handed. Things didn't normally go like that; usually, when someone got lost or went missing, they'd all find them a few hours later, end of. But it had been d_ays _since Stiles' disappearance, and there was absolutely no clue or trace of where he might have gone.

Cautious and observant eyes skimmed down the map that splayed the desk in front of him and Allison, mentally placing little green check points over the places they'd already checked, which... this far, it was everywhere; twice, three times in some places, even. "Yeah." He nodded, it didn't matter, he wanted to help searching, not that he'd admit it, but he was open to any and all options; if Scott and Allison had discussed the jogging trails Coach opted to use more often than not, then he was going to aid however he could. "Yeah, we just need to be watchful." He nodded, standing straight and crossing his arms against his chest. "I think Coach's doing endurance runs today." He shrugged a shoulder. "But it's definitely worth a shot." Each little fidget of his feet, or drag of his hand over his arm were the only indicators that he, too, was slightly scared.

Stiles and Isaac weren't the closest of the pack, but he w_as _pack, human or not, and it was weird not to have him around. "Okay." Allison nodded, taking the invisible ink pen to place a telling spot on the big map in her dad's office. Ever since Jennifer, Allison and Chris Argent had taken on the habit of leaving tells to one another in the previously mentioned ink for only each other to find in moments of need, such as the present one; a familiar feature that Isaac observed whilst waiting for his friend to give the go to leave. "It just feels off, you know?" She stated, frowning as her hand moved with wording motions. "It feels like he literally disappeared into thin air." She shook her head, placing the pen aside and rolling the map to its usual place. "No marks, no trails, no nothing." She sighed. "It's just... odd."

"Maybe it's witches." Isaac thoughtlessly worded. "Wolves exist... witches could too." Only partially kidding with his brie guess at how Allison and him might be scraping by unscathed, he offered a lazy lift and drop of his shoulders; single hand purchasing in his pocket while he idled quietly by the door while she made sure to tie up every loose end before they left; heaven forbid they both go missing as well. At least, with her precautions, people would know where to look if they didn't come back. _I mean, really. _Isaac thought, eyes on the floor for a few moments as Allison's head shook and finished her intended measures. _How does someone lose another while getting ice cream? _He idolized Scott and all, but the manner in which Stiles had gone missing simply became a thing he thought he would never understand.

Finally, after a moment of silence, Allison walked in Isaac's direction and walked out of her father's office with the wolf behind her. "Don't be ridiculous." She simply said, shaking her head and reaching for her jacket on the coat hanger. "Witches aren't real."

Even under the circumstances, Isaac chuckled. "Maybe." He allowed. "Anyway, fingers crossed we _at least _find a clue out there." Pressing the door of the Argent's office open, he let Allison take the lead, baring the reigns of the area she'd decided to search that afternoon. "Whatever keeps me out from going to school."

After a rather unamused look from Allison due to his words that was retaliated by a completely innocent curl of Isaac's lips as he fell into step behind her, a long moment of silence followed; one in which the two easily walked out of the apartment, went down the elevator toward the garage, and even got in the car; all before she suddenly and rather out of nowhere snorted once. "Yeah, witches are definitely not real." She mused, twisting the key in order to hear the purring of the engine shortly after.

On the outside, Allison was cool, calm, collected; had her burdens together and buried deep. Buried along with how she truly felt, the concern and even minute fear about their human friend; it was evident in the small pauses she'd take to take an extra breath, or when she'd comb her fingers through her hair one too many times. Yes, Allison Argent was just as nerve-wracked as the rest of them, but clearly was also very able to keep it all together ten times better than any of them. Anything to lighten the load, as she saw it.

Isaac pulled the seatbelt over his chest just as she was pressing on the pedal to drive them both out of there.

-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-

Brittany O'Brien's first full week of school was almost over, and things around Beacon Hills were tense. There were guidance counsellors, police officers, telling them all to be in the lookout for a missing student; the two people she had truly talked to, Isaac and Allison, looked more distracted and tense than when she'd met them, but she couldn't blame them. She couldn't really blame anyone for the next to no attention they gifted her with, in fact, she was thankful; but with all the tragedy going on, she was getting worried. First a suicide, and now this?

Well, yes, things were tense and very gloomy in most corners of Beacon Hills High, but none of it meant any of the students got away from their duties. Coach, whose description, in Brittany's opinion, matched completely to the one Isaac had told her, had unamusedly announced that today they were all to do an 'endurance run', that _all _of them had to do it because it was a big part of the P.E. grade. The new girl wasn't too excited about it, regardless of if she considered herself good at it or not; she _hated _running; or maybe not hated, per se, but it was not something she enjoyed doing. And having to do so in front of people was not something she looked forward to at all; but the one thing she _did _look forward to was the fact that said run was planned to be outside. One of the perks of living in a small town: runs in the forest instead of a closed off basketball court as she'd seen in one of the many shows before the beginning of her studies.

Her hands tightened the knot on her left shoe before it lowered, arms lifting to make sure her ponytail was well held in place before following all the girls from her class out of the locker room. Coach was already waiting for all of them with all of the guys waiting outside; and the moment he saw all the girls slip out from the washroom he spoke in a loud tone. "Why must you girls take so long?" He wondered. "You're running, not walking down a cat walk." His tone escaped in a note Brittany was still unsure if it was genuinely annoyed of naturally harsh. "Let's go." And then everyone moved after an obnoxiously loud cue from Coach's whistle; the students walked in a big group with Coach at the head, some fixing the jackets, other chatting away with one another, and some, like Brittany, setting their phones or iPods in strategic places so they wouldn't fall during their run; in the new girl's case, the strap of her bra.

It was only a few minutes later that everyone made it to the starting point, and Coach started yelling a few instructions toward the whole group; basic ones, really: stay close to the group, stay on the route he had explained the day prior, remember the technique he'd taught them all for breathing and running, etcetera, etcetera. And with another loud cue from his whistle, off everyone went; one foot in front of the other, arms angled to 90* at their sides, breathing in and out in controlled rhythmic motions. Brittany started a little late, though, for spending time to start up her music to a song she liked and saw fit for running, like Pink Floyd's 'On The Run', and then followed in the group of teenagers.

Some did follow Coach's instructions for running, others seemed already out of breath. It was a rhythm, though, to her, one that followed through the beat of the melody coming through her earphones, one, two, one, two, pushing forward and gaining speed as she went, feeling the wind her movements created refresh her every breath. The burn in her lungs unwelcome as always, but ignorable, and next thing she knew, she was running ahead. The panting group of teens left behind her and making a genuinely surprised laugh escape her lips before she forced herself to breathe back in rhythm again as the song changed into the well rhythmic tones of Miss Jackson by Panic! At The Disco to set her new pace.

With no one in front of her and the group barely visible behind her, Brittany found it was up to her to remember the route she had to take; unfortunately her memory wasn't that great, _but _fortunately, she knew herself enough, so she'd prepared herself for any scenario. Or, really, the scenario she had prepared herself for had been to be last one on the group, so last, in fact, that she would have to rely on her memory to be able to go where the group had, instead of being at the very head. Regardless, she'd prepared, and all she had to do was take her phone out from its safe position and unlock it in order to see the pointers and notes she had placed on the electronic. The action, of course, meant looking down for longer than five seconds, something that probably shouldn't be done while running at the speed in which she was, _in _the woods, where she could easily run into a tree or something of the sort.

That, thankfully, was not the case; though, when she did look up from the screen of her phone, she almost wished it had happened, for what lay before her was much worse. What she almost _had _run into was so much worse than any embarrassment over crashing against a tree, and her attempt to stop in time to not crash against it, against _her_, made the new girl completely lose her balance and fall face first right in front of it, palms pressing against the ground before her in attempt to stop the impact from being too painful.

Her.

A girl, paler than snow with filthy hair in a dark shade of blonde, green lifeless orbs, blood on her clothes, clear remain of the big cut adorning her throat, strung up to the tree by the neck, a metallic string that was clearly the only thing holding her there. She was dead; it was obvious. There was a dead girl strung up to a tree, and all Brittany had done was lose her balance the moment she'd seen her. And there was a silence, a horrible silence in which her frame refused to move, and her eyes looked unfocused and colourless up at the bloodied face of the green eyed girl; a silence in which it felt as if a bubble had wrapped around her. And then, seconds later, when the crystal blue returned to Brittany's orbs, she finally started screaming.

-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-

Starting off in a path behind Allison, Isaac let his eyes roam over her and her equipment while gaining the full knowledge that she could handle herself should the event arise that he couldn't keep her safe; it settled any nerves he had over patrolling the bit of wood with her and no backup. His pace was slower, quiet as the drive and the preparation for the excursion had been, allotting time for the wolf to observe each surrounding and pick up any and all sights, sounds and smells.

There was a hint of _something_ that relied accompanied by that strangely familiar scent of Stiles; it was bitter, something raw and rotten that had Isaac second guessing and processing the smell as old and wrong; and he had turned around, strolling up next to Allison in order to voice his short findings when any thought and word was stopped short by the distant and echoing scream ringing in his ears.

In no less than a second, her eyes were off in the distance, illuminating a candle lit yellow; features pointed and altering to accompany the rigid stance of his body. If what he had about to speak didn't make the trails he'd picked up on suspicious... random screams in the middle of the woods in broad daylight definitely did. "Allison..."

"I know. Come on." And then they were both running in the direction of the sound, loud and clear and not at all far away from them; Allison held her bow close, and Isaac allowed his senses to rule his being completely as he lead the way for the girl to follow him in the right direction. Shortly after, when the huntress had laid eyes on an image not too far away from both of them, Allison's hand wrapped around Isaac's wrist in order to pull him behind a tree with a hollow middle. "Look at that." She whispered, eyes focused in the image before them and pulling a few leaves out of the way for her to be able to see it all properly, and more importantly, for Isaac to be able to see it properly.

There were people standing in a circle around a tree, Coach was recognisable among all of them due to the fact that he was not only speaking loudly to make everyone around him shut up, but was also holding on to someone Isaac couldn't yet see; supporting more than detaining. Everyone's eyes were directed to the middle of the circle, and Isaac's yellow lit hues could see the details of everything around them; now if only they could all move... "Stay back, everyone!" Coach was yelling. "If anyone gets any closer you will get an automatic zero in my class, now someone call the police!" Isaac could hear their breaths clearly.

"What is it?" Allison whispered beside Isaac, her very human eyes attempting to focus in as much as they could see, heart beating in awareness while awaiting for her friend to tell her something that could mean running once again. "Isaac?"

He shook his head. "Hold on." His head tilted softly, eyes remaining focused on the distance along with the ability of focusing his hearing a little sharper. Some teenagers had listened to Coach's instructions, stepping back from their huddled positions, calling the police; some others were frantically covering their eyes, leaning against their friends in some girls' case, others were gawking as if the image was one of the most interesting things they'd seen in the world, morbid, as per the human nature. Someone else retching somewhere at the far left behind some tree near the scene. But what mattered the most to Isaac, at least for a moment, was the fact that, when the circle of teenagers started parting in an enough angle to let him see the cause of the havoc, he nearly very horribly found something familiar on what lay before everyone else. "That's not possible..." He said.

He recognised it; of course he did, he couldn't possibly attempt forgetting the first time he had seen a strung up body in a race of his own with Scott and Stiles close beside him. But it was... It wasn't possible, the reason he had even become Allison's anchor had been for the strange water ritual that had gifted them with what they needed to defeat Jennifer and save their parents; all of it was over, all of it... "_Isaac!_" Allison said beside him, breaking away his reverie and prying his eyes away from the strangely calm Coach. He'd clearly gotten horribly used to dealing with finding a dead body during one of his classes; what exactly did that say about the town? "What is it?"

"Stand here." He told her, knowing he had a better view of the whole thing regardless of the better werewolf eyesight. He veered off to the side, easily allowing his friend to stand where he had before, pointing in the direction of the murderous scene. She saw the people bellow, Coach, Greenberg, a few others she recognised. They were crowding and talking over each other, yammering left and right, and she was rather partial to just heading down there and parting the sea of classmates herself so she could locate the cause of the scream. "Watch down there." Isaac told her, listening to the echo of a distant siren that slowly grew louder. "Centre circle of the people."

Without another word, Allison reached inside her pocket for her phone before clicking on the camera and using the zoom to be able to see all the details better; Isaac had his wolf eyes, Allison wasn't so 'lucky', so she had to make do. "Is that the new girl?" She suddenly asked, making Isaac's orbs fall to the phone in her hands before daring to look in that direction with his own eyes again.

"Yeah, it is." he replied, frowning. "Tough luck." His eyes fixated on Brittany for a moment, standing right next to Coach; she was the one he held in a supporting manner, the one that stood the closest and most direct to the body strung up to the tree. And he was going to say more, but suddenly he heard Allison's heartbeat spike and the dry swallow in her throat.

The slit of the throat, the string up to the tree... she was recognising it, he could hear it perfectly even before she spoke. "It looks..." She paused, moving the camera around and zooming incredibly close to the scene before them. "Oh, god." She muttered, zooming out and looking away in the direction of Isaac, who was looking right at her as well. "It's got to be a coincidence." She said rather unconvincingly.

Isaac couldn't help doing anything but shake his head. "That whole scene is..." He turned to look in toward the scene of the crime again, where cruisers were now becoming visible, and Deputy Parrish and Sheriff Stilinski were stepping out of a car. "...there's something off about it." As if he was weary of being caught, Isaac's feet anchored a few steps back and let the words ghost around through returning features, hand reaching for Allison's in a clear sign that she should step from the slope as well.

"You think Jennifer is back somehow?" She asked, allowing her friend to pull her back, feeling almost broken due to the fact that, if Jennifer was actually back, then the darkness she carried around her heart as per Deaton's words, had been completely in vain; Scott's own issues had been in vain. It felt almost personal. And she'd been so focused on her unfair reverie that she didn't even realise Isaac had, not only shaken his head in a negative sort of reassurance, but had also wordly expressed the unlikeliness of such a situation, before she asked yet another question. "Did you get anything about Stiles?" The question left her lips dreaded, as if she were scared for the answer that she could receive, for having found a dead body broke apart so many of her hopeful theories.

Allison so rarely let the calm that resided on her features all hours of a day slip; it was so that it came as a slight shock for Isaac to see her at a loss now. Either way, with laboured breathing and a minute squeeze of his hand, he hoped to sooth her enough to talk and walk all at the same time. It was her second question that had finally caught him off guard. It snapped him back to moments prior, when he had stilled before the scream that had surely come from the new girl; because he had been about to tell Allison about having caught a whiff of Stiles. "Come to think of it..." He started, continuing to walk alongside her. "...before we ran and hid behind that tree I... I thought that maybe I did?" He hated that it echoed like a question, but it easily accompanied the confused look that adorned his features.

"What do you mean?" Allison asked, frowning and allowing her eyes to rest on Isaac as they walked in the same 'trail' they had run.

His eyes fell to ground for a moment. "It was..." He frowned, looking at her sideways as they continued on their path. "It _smelt _like him, but there was something just... off." He admitted. "Like, something rotten, something... old, angry. It was..." Dropping his grip on her hand, Isaac allowed himself to scan the area around them once again, and then moved his steps in a stride ahead of her to retrace his steps; foot by foot exactly, until he was able to stop at the same scent from before. "...around here."

There was a silence in which Allison's dread-filled hues observed the place where Isaac stood; she watched, thinking, shaking her head, breathing. "We need to tell Scott." She announced after a few more beats. Next thing Isaac knew, she had reached for his arm and started pulling him along in another mirror of their previous steps, only, this time, they led both friends in the direction of her car. "Let's go." She simply told him. "I need to talk to my dad, we may need to talk to Deaton, we need to do something."

The gears were grinding and turning in Allison's head, Isaac could see it written all over her face while he had waited quietly for her to snap and relent to him all of the thoughts she'd just been lost to; of course, it was Allison, and Isaac should have been expecting the unexpected. Leave it to him to be entirely surprised when she took the lead this time and dragged _him _back to the car with urgent foot falls and nearly demanding words; whatever it is she had thought they could do clearly had been set in motion, even faster than they had been able to reach the car.

Of course, Isaac wasted no time helping her stow her bow away into the car once they'd reached it, and then himself in suit. "Right." He agreed. "Take me home and I'll wait for Scott, retell the news." He nodded, watching her close her own door and slide the key into the ignition. "You keep us up to date with what Chris says, and I'll..." He frowned softly, gulping back the short pang of nerves brought by the idea of facing Melissa when he had skipped school. "...I'll see what I can work with when it comes to Miss McCall;" He nodded. "Pull whatever strings I can."

This time, he just dealt with Allison's need-for-speed style of driving, reiterating his thoughts into words while her car bounced along the road.

**To Be Continued.**


	14. Chapter 14: Welcome To Beacon Hills

At least it wasn't complete chaos, but Brittany O'Brien was starting to believe that getting up from her bed that day had been the worst decision she'd made; of course, had she known she was going to find a dead body and see what she had seen in such an unwanted manner, she wouldn't even have attended school that day. But she had, and now, as everyone watched officers pull down the lifeless body of the green eyed girl, she found herself focusing on the people around her; the students talking amongst themselves, the guy who'd gotten sick making the mental record of disgusting casualties go up to one, the Sheriff talking to Coach; they all seemed strangely calm, curious, of course, as any human would be, but calm, as if such a tragedy wasn't at all uncommon around the town. "Miss O'Brien." Couch called, breaking her away from her reverie and study of the strange town's people and motioning with a soft movement of a hand in an attempt to beacon her forward in his direction.

It had become evident from the moment Coach had stayed close to her to relax her, that she was going to be some important part of the interrogation; and well she should be, since she had been the one to find the body; but sheriff Stilinski's concern went further than just the too familiar death being brought down onto a stretcher. Everything in his mind weighed down inside his brain in one and a million thoughts that led him only to one place: his son; so when he watched the girl stand before him and Coach rest a hand on her shoulder he had to truly force himself to pay attention to the manner in which he attempted to inform him of the situation and repeating the tale of how he had found the girl after hearing her scream. "Miss O'Brien...?" Sheriff repeated after a nod in Coach's direction.

"Brittany." She told him as her arms wrapped around herself after a hand had wiped away nearly dried tears and a concerned frown edged in the middle of her forehead.

It was such a motion that made the sheriff frown and wish upon some sort of peace in his town for the millionth time since he learnt of the horrors that crawled in the night. "Right." He allowed, pushing back his desire to busy himself on finding his son than interrogating a high school girl. "I know you've been through a lot, Brittany, so I won't ask too much." He soothed, though even he could hear his own tiredness in his own words; something that became evident by the short manner in which the girl's brow lifted with minute curiosity. "Can you tell me something coach hasn't?" He asked, keeping his eyes on the bright blue of the girl's with as kind a demeanour as his worry would allow.

Almost as if she'd been surprised by the question, Brittany's lips parted and her eyes lowered to look at the ground while a soft breath puffed from her lips and her arms tightened around her as if she were cold regardless of the warm weather. It was a look Sheriff had seen many times before in victims, but mostly victims who deemed what their despair had made them see absolutely unbelievable and only worthy to speak if they were okay with the idea of spending a few months in Eichen House; it was something that almost immediately made him frown. Yet... before he could question her any further she started speaking, a little stutter adorning her words and a light tone that trembled as she directed said words toward the ground. "N-no, I can't, I-I'm sorry." She said, lids fluttering and crashing against the pale skin of her cheeks forcing upon a sole tear to slip in a slow journey until it settled at the corner of her mouth. "I just... I-I fell right in front of... I..." With a little frown, Brittany finally looked up into the sheriff's eyes as she forced her arms to uncross, showing him her hands, palms up, and making him aware of the dry and faint stains on her hands; residue, the sheriff thought, of the bloody leaves she had fallen upon. "I didn't notice her until I fell right in front of her."

He nodded. "Alright." His face communicated concern, kindness, and so did the gentle touch on the shoulder he placed in attempts to soothe the girl. "I'm sorry this is one of the first things you had to see of the town." It was the only thing he could say upon hearing the heavy accent that adorned her words fully; when she nodded, his touch fell in order to allow that same hand to reach inside one of his jacket's pockets to retrieve a white and green card. "Here, just..." He said, frowning at the recognition he had had upon her first look and offering the rectangle to her. "If you remember anything else, or... _anything_, no matter how small, weird or insignificant it may seem, just call this number, okay?"

He watched her smile, a small one of course, a smile haunted by whatever it was she had held back from speaking, but also something else, something he couldn't exactly put a finger on as she lifted a hand to take hold of the card he offered her. "I will." She reassured him, attempting to brush the filth from her hands so she could hold the card properly, making him nod once again.

"Okay." He said, throwing an attempt at a comforting smile once again. "That's all for now, then." His eyes flicked in Coach's direction, who nodded once before turning around. "I'm going to have deputy Parrish take you home, alright?" Sheriff asked when he looked in Brittany's direction once again. "I'm sure the school won't mind you missing your last classes of the day after this."

Behind her, Coach was yelling some instructions for the other students, but Brittany ignored them for a moment as the smallest of grins adorned her features. "Thank you." She told the worried Sheriff, and he had started to turn around to call Parrish, when the girl suddenly spoke again. "Um, could I..." He turned around to look at her once again, wishing he could fix everything that had gone wrong since Stiles disappeared the way he was fixing everything else. "Could I take my car?" Brittany asked. "I don't want to leave it here for the rest of the day."

The man bobbed his head in a nod, though this time he wasn't even able to force upon a grin across his lips. "Sure." He replied, placing his hand on her shoulder again for a short moment before he finally turned around. "Parrish!" He called, and then he was walking in the direction of the green eyed deputy, taking Brittany with him.

Her eyes shifted in the direction of the gurney that sombrely was being pulled away from the scene, before they focused on the red taint of the girl's blood still adorning the leaves in front of the tree as if it were a reminding piece of art that was meant to remain for everyone to never forget what had happened there. "Sheriff?" Parrish asked, making her blue eyes land on him as her hands held to the card the man had given her.

"Please escort Miss O'Brien home, she's been through quite a bit today." He told the younger man, motioning to the girl beside him with a hand, and not at all missing the short twist of her lips upon the sound of her last name. Right, she wanted to be referred to by her first name; he couldn't even attempt to apologise, maybe he'd be doing a better job of everything if his son hadn't been missing for days. "Brittany," he addressed her, dropping his hold to egg her in Parrish's direction. "Just follow the deputy, you're going to be okay." He reassured her, and felt better after her own push of a little smile, which made him look away and nod in the deputy's direction before turning away to deal with everything else.

-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-

The time it took Isaac to exit Allison's car and rush inside to seek out Scott after she'd dropped him off had been record breaking. If anyone needed to know what they had both seen, what he'd smelt, and _who _they'd seen at the scene, it was his Alpha. He had gotten home only a few minutes before him, looking just as hopeless and rugged as Isaac felt; only he had news.

News relayed in the form of slowly spouted words, making sure that each of them processed thoroughly in Scott's head before he brought up further sentences. News such as the dead body that looked a little too much like Jennifer's sacrifices, like Allison telling him on the journey back that he wasn't the only wolf to say they smelt something rotten to accompany Stiles' scent, like the new girl being at the scene of the crime and possibly having been the one to find the body; all news to which the Alpha responded with a tired look and an eminent edge of concern that remained for as long as Stiles wasn't found. "So you're saying you think this new murder has something to do with Stiles?" Scott asked, his eyes searching Isaac's whole demeanour for any sort of sign that would possibly answer his questions.

"I'm saying I hope it doesn't, but just in case we should keep an open mind." The blue eyed wolf replied, releasing a broken breath and lifting his shoulders in a shrug; he had spoken, but his mind remained replaying the scream he'd heard that had called Allison and him to scene of the crime, the look in the new girl's face, worried as it should be after being in such contact with a dead body but not enough to make it look like it was the first time she had.

Isaac wasn't one to think about judging someone from their past, but he also couldn't help but be confused about her reaction now that he had told Scott about it and even thought it in detail himself. For some reason it reminded him about the strange feeling he'd gotten the day he'd met her, like there was something weird about her, something she was hiding; something he had thought had only been work of the worry eating at his mind that very day. And apparently he wasn't that good at pushing back his own thoughts away from his features, because only a few beats of silence later, Scott was talking in his direction once again. "Is there anything else?" He asked, making Isaac's eyes lift in his direction.

_Was_ there anything else? Should he tell Scott about his suspicion? What if it was all just a projection of his anxieties finding a pattern or an anomaly where there was none solely because part of him found Brittany attractive yet had no time to think about such a thing so loosely when danger was paroling the town and he provoked a havoc that could have been avoided otherwise? "I just..." He started, head tilting to the side shortly as he debated his dilemma a little longer. "...I think someone should keep an eye out for the new girl." Wasn't there a saying somewhere that one was better safe than sorry?

Scott frowned. "Why?" He wondered, gaining a little bit of worried life upon his tired visage. "Did she do something?"

"No, but come on." Isaac's head shook and a hand lifted to scratch at the back o his head. "There's something off about her, and I can't be only one thinking it." He admitted rather carefully; he definitely wasn't used to helping much, and the sole idea of attempting to help and ending up making things worse weighted heavily enough to make him wish he could shut up and take it back, but before he could think twice about it, a logic he hadn't even realised he'd thought about slipped through his lips to make sense of the strange feeling he got about the girl he'd plowed over. "I mean, isn't it a little strange that there's been all these suicides that _turn out _to not be suicides, she moves into town in the middle of the school year and then suddenly Stiles disappears and there's a murder that looks a little too much like Jennifer's sacrifices that _she _finds?"

At least Scott had nodded, at least Isaac's logic did make sense to someone other than him. He nearly breathed out in relief when his alpha said "Okay." But it got stuck in his throat when he completed his sentence. "You keep an eye on her, then."

"Wait, me?" Isaac asked, pushing away from the wall he'd been leaning against and looking right at Scott.

"This makes three things we have to figure out." Scott told him, his eyes lowering to look at his phone after a little vibration. "I need to go meet Derek." He announced, but then looked back up in Isaac's direction. "Look, it was your idea, and it's a good one, you might be right. Derek and I will go further into the woods to search more of that rotten smell you talked about, see if we can follow it somewhere, Allison and Lydia are searching more about the suicides and the body in the school grounds, if you do this, we can take care of everything at once and maybe even find Stiles a little faster."

It was a logic the beta couldn't disagree with, so after he half-forcedly agreed, Scott left to his devices and left Isaac to wonder how he was supposed to manage figuring out if everything that had been happening in town was the girl's fault or not. With a rather wondering demeanour he shook his head as soon as the front door had closed and reached for his phone in his pocket, sifting through the bountiful emails he had from teachers while he headed up the stairs toward what the McCall family had deemed his room; missing assignments, upcoming tests a newsletter already announcing the finding of a dead body and making Isaac's eyes nearly roll due to the speed with which information seemed to travel in the town.

He was frustrated, but it helped a little that he knew exactly what he had to do, both for the pack and for school; not that he would get any of the latter done at the moment; not when he was still waiting to hear from Allison about how her trip to the hospital with Lydia had gone and he had to find a way to make contact with the new girl without outright asking her if she was evil.

A problem that got a rather easy and instant solution the moment a text bubble appeared in the middle of his screen; a little blue bubble that made Isaac's brows raise in disbelief over his communication skills (or lack thereof). _Hey, you good? Didn't see you today. x _The text read; Brittany.

He had given her his number and she had given him hers on her second day of school; something about always having a peer's contact number in case of emergencies or something of the sort. Unimportant; he was a teenager of the twenty first century, though, that was his whole disbelief, because he hadn't even thought of simply starting up a conversation with the girl via text messages. It had taken her texting first as if she'd read his mind for the idea to even appear in the middle of his thought bubble.

It was the perfect opportunity to attempt getting some information, however small it might be. So when he finally got over his disbelief and sat at the edge of his bed, Isaac finally tapped a quick reply. _Had a cold. All good with you? Saw the newsletter. _Friendly enough to be concerned and simple enough to have an aura of 'You're new, and I don't really know you, but thanks for caring'. He rested the slim device on his thigh as he attempted to allow his limbs to strech in a relaxed slack that hadn't been afforded to them in days.

Truth be told, under different circumstances, Isaac Lahey might have been almost celebrating the fact that a girl – an attractive one, at that – had texted him first, but for some reason the idea that said girl could be also evil made the prospect not so inviting. If he could make sure she girl was normal, well, then that might be another story completely. What was a stretch turned into a yawn, and a slow drag of a hand over his face.

Often times he found that it wasn't so easy to just catch a break when living in and protecting a town like Beacon Hills. He didn't regret the bite, not by a long shot, in fact, it had saved his life more times than not. It had given him the break he had wished for before he turned eighteen, regardless of if he had to live as a fugitive for a while. But some days he genuinely started thinking about petitioning for some sort of 'werewolf vacation day', nationwide and lawful. Everyone needed a break, even supernatural creatures with inhuman powers and glows-stick yellow eyes, as Stiles had once pointed out.

His phone chimed again and made the wolf's eyes drop to the abandoned phone to see a brand new text. His finger quickly swiped to the right to unlock the phone before reading the reply. _You did? _It read. _We got sent home early because of it, so I'm bored. Did you know her? _It was a strange reply, to say the least; one that lifted Isaac's brows with curiosity before they dropped and pinched together in confusion. Assuming so, he had figured that she would mention something about having been there like any normal human would, maybe not for attention, maybe for gossip, or for... s_omething. _He knew she'd been there, he'd seen her, yet she avoided it entirely. Why?

Of course, a lack of mention over her presence was not enough to deem her guilty, so he allowed a noisy huff of a breath while his lower lip got caught in between his teeth. His next response, though sure, sent to the girl much slower, due to the fact that he took a little more time to think that one out. _No, I didn't. Not personally, anyway. Still unfortunate. :( Feel bad for the people in P.E. that were there. Just recovered from something like this. _"They really should put the danger in the pamphlets." He spoke to the air, his eyes studying his phone with a half amused demeanour at the memory of the short conversation he had had with Allison about that very subject. It was such a thought that brought forth the idea and the decision to send a second text. _Welcome to Beacon Hills, new girl. _Just because he was 'working' it didn't mean he couldn't have a little fun.

If the girl wasn't actually evil, then it truly meant that she had just walked in on a town full of death and peril, and she had the toughest luck yet. Clearly even worse than his own; he couldn't imagine what a horrible thing it must have been to find a dead body in the middle of a run on her fourth day of school... _if _she wasn't evil. Because the coincidences that lined up along with her arrival to town were too many; and what was that thing Stiles was always saying? Two is a coincidence, three is a pattern? Maybe he was right, maybe Isaac _was _onto something.

Or maybe the new girl just had horrible luck and found herself in the wrong place at the wrong time more times than one and for once it truly was _all _a coincidence and he should apologise at some point in those circumstances. He sighed. If only he was as good as Scott and Derek with all their wolf abilities and he could know if his instincts were good or bad with the sort of accuracy Derek had more times than not. If he could tell by scent if someone was evil, or was hiding something; but all he could do was listen to someone's heart for anomalies that could show upon the chance of a lie or something of the sort.

The chirping of his phone stopped him from sighing again, and instead he attempted to focus on what he _could _focus on and unlocked the device to read the reply he had been sent. _I did see Coach act as if he'd been through this before. What happened? _Wait, was _she _asking for information? How that this table turned? He was the one who was supposed to be asking questions to determine if she was good or bad, yet here she was.

Though he couldn't blame her, if he'd been new and had been told the town was 'just recovering from something like this' he would have asked too. Once again he cursed his lacklustre communication skills. His eyes shifted to the left when the echo of creaking wood reached him out of nowhere, making him still. Could Scott already be back? A silence followed, and Isaac sighed. Now even the house creaking due to the heat made him jumpy. First, the chaos left behind by Jennifer, then all the suicides, then Danny, and now Stiles' disappearance and a brand new death; it was simply hard not to worry about Scott or the town itself. Isaac wasn't an alpha, and he had no wish to be one, but he could only assume what pressure and weight his friend bared on his shoulders.

With a longer pause that confirmed the fact that it was nothing but the house creaking on its own, Isaac reverted and turned his attention back to his phone, biding time by cautiously proceeding with an answer for the new girl that wouldn't give anything away; again, how the tables decided to turn. _Some psycho drifted into BH, a lot of murders, some missing cases that were resolved. Left Coach and some of the student body hung up and high strung. _Satisfied, he pressed on and sent the message while attempting to think of a way in which he could turn the conversation into a situation where _he _could be the one asking the questions again.

Really, only Isaac had gotten to know Brittany; spar Allison, who had talked with her as well due to having a class with her too; so the fact that Scott had given him the job of figuring her out made more sense than his alpha even realised. If making sure Brittany was evil or not was all he could do to help out the pack, then so be it.

He was about to send another message, pressing to ask her about her opinion of the murder in hopes she'd tell him she'd been there, when some ghosting movement and a faint heartbeat reached him from outside the walls of his room. Squinted eyes drew upwards from his phone and casted a weary glance out his window, and then he literally froze; maybe he'd expected to see a bird, or a plane, or... something else regardless of if he knew his window's view consisted on the neighbouring house that he could have sworn was empty. But what he had found instead had been the very girl he was attempting to interrogate: Brittany.

Of course, _of course_ his luck would be as such and the empty neighbouring house wouldn't be empty anymore, and of _course _it would be taken by the new girl and her family. And of _course _the room right across from his window had to be hers. He was frozen with his mouth agape and a text message half typed; she was pacing her room; or not exactly pacing, but fixing it, cleaning it and putting posters along her walls, disappearing from the left side of the window only to appear again with a poster on her hands and disappear onto the right side of the window in some sort of pattern; at least until she stopped right in front of him, facing the wall she had been placing posters against and resting her hand under her chin as if she were observing what she had done.

And she must have somehow felt his gaze or something of the sort, because not even a few moments after she'd turned to watch her wall, her eyes suddenly fell to the side and instantly met his own. Her eyes widened just as Isaac started considering ducking as if he were going to pretend he was a vision or a ghost or something. But instead his brows rose as her eyes shifted from the opposite side of the wall she'd been observing back to him. He could swear he saw her gulp before a little smile illuminated upon her lips.

She lifted a hand to wave in his direction before her lips moved in a "Um... hi." As if he could hear her all the way to where he was with _two _closed windows that separated them both.

Well, shit.

**To Be Continued.**


	15. Chapter 15: The Girl Next Door

Isaac should have ducked out of view and hid, or left his room, or faked a phone call, or s_omething_; anything but acting like a metaphorical puppy, he shouldn't have frozen in place, but he had. So he slipped his phone into his pocket, heaved his chest and puffed out a loud breath of air that made the particles of dust dance around him in little tornados while he wondered over the short panic he had seen on Brittany's face. Part of him oozed with nothing but confusion over such a reaction to seeing him, the other part felt slightly annoyed that he couldn't subtly pester for information anymore. Had he really been so bad at school to scare her? Unless she was nervous because of something else...

Raising from his seat on the bed, Isaac moved with stoic features in order to lift his window open, finding solace in the wind that drifted in and motioned for the girl to do the same with a minute flick of his hand before his arms crossed and leant his forearms on the sill in some sort of comfort. He watched her stand there rather stupidly for a couple of seconds, hand raised, mouth in a little 'O', her phone on her other hand, but then she blinked a couple of times and nodded in his direction, blinking away her confusion along with the concern and surprise she had not been able to hide as well as she clearly hoped she would.

Or so he thought at the sudden raise of her heartbeat.

Isaac's brows rose when he saw her climbing a desk under the window in order to move the latch that kept it closed before lifting it as well and setting herself on a cross legged position. It wasn't until she was completely settled comfortably atop the desk that her eyes even at all dared to fall on him. "Fancy seeing you here." She said in that accent of hers, one of her hands lifting in a short wave like the one from before. "Do you live here?" He would have thought it a stupid question, but... well, maybe she was hoping he was visiting a friend.

It's all it took for him to smirk. "No." He replied. "I live _here_. You live _there._" His tone slipped sardonically as one of his hands pointed in the directions he mentioned and leaned against the sill once again; trying to push back the sense of achievement the moment her eyes rolled and that familiar smirk twisted her lips to the side, because, for whatever reason, Brittany was wafting in the smell of fear, and it honestly set the wolf on edge a bit. "How're you doing?" He asked after poofing his cheeks out in a rather silent and exaggerated sigh, his eyes studying nearly her every move as he attempted to push at any possible buttons that could get her to tell him anything to either make or break his suspicions. "You look like you've seen a ghost."

Perhaps it seriously had nothing to do with him, perhaps the look on her eyes was like a ghost of the fear she had felt after seeing the body, perhaps she couldn't stop seeing it behind her eyelids, perhaps his assumptions of her were wrong; but no, he _couldn't _afford to think that way, not with Stiles and the town on the line. "I'm fine, I just didn't expect you to be there." She said after a little pause that made Isaac force himself to not frown; her heart was picking up, her eyes had fallen to her hands atop her desk before returning to his, and a small wave of breathed laughter escaped in a puff through her lips. She was lying. "It's also been a rather eventful day." And _that _was a complete understatement.

Why was she lying? What was she hiding? It was as if that strange instinct he had gotten over her the day they met had multiplied in intensity and he couldn't ignore it any longer; though, if he were in her shoes, he probably wouldn't trust anyone he'd just met with his feelings or his thoughts, maybe he was overreacting, taking his assignment a little too seriously. But maybe he was right; it was that constant battle that edged him on to attempt to corner her as subtly as he could. "Who says I was there?" He asked; would it lead anywhere? He didn't know; if it didn't then he'd only make a fool of himself, but if it did... well, already Allison and him had their suspicions about Brittany showing up just as chaos presented itself again, and though he hoped he was wrong, the very sudden and very evident peaking of the beat of her heart started to make him believe he wasn't.

Her eyes had fallen to her hands again, but they'd risen in what he could have sworn was a panic that dissipated as soon as it showed, ignited by the rhythm of her heart that seemed unable to stop screaming once and again and quicker until he started thinking she was going to have a heart attack; her lips parted and the echo of a nervous breath escaped shortly and nearly inaudible due to the rush of wind that played with her hair and muted her exhales for a short moment. _Why so nervous, new girl? _He thought, raising his brows subtly just as her lids blinked in quick and repeated flutters; yet, even though a smile suddenly started appearing across her lips, the rapid rhythm of her heart did not seem to be anywhere close to dissipating anytime soon. "There, where?" She asked, playing coy and making the wolf unable to hold back a silent scoffed breath; a small frown crossed her forehead that adorned perfectly with the short tilt of her head. "I meant that I didn't expect you to be _there,_" She pointed with attempted steady digits in his direction, "right across my window." She blinked again. "I didn't expect you to be my neighbour, tall guy."

Practiced calamity took hold and presented itself at each look on her face; each look that worked completely against the emotions seeping from her person, and each look that counteracted the rapid beat of her heart, which screamed panic. Ducking his head in feigned abashment, Isaac scratched his fingers through unruly curls and cleared his throat, honing in on the way her voice stilled and calmed itself while her heart continued to beat in a post-haste rhythm. "Oh, right, right." He feigned a perfect embarrassed chuckle. "Sorry, just on edge." Even a false sense of apology didn't completely conceal the fear in her scent, not by a long shot; nor did it make the dilation in her pupils lessen. He had to swallow thickly on the notion that Allison and him _had _been right after all. "You know; my bad."

Simple, to the point, entirely closed off. "It's okay." Just like her and the little attempted smile she threw in his direction. "I think we all are after what happened today." She said; something to which he forced himself to smile.

He didn't have a need to befriend anyone else that would bring harm to the town, and until she was proved innocent, with her lies and her evasion of information, that is exactly how Isaac would see it. "The councillors here are good, if this thing keeps bothering you." He told her, pushing his frame back from the sill and tapping the wood with the tips of his fingers. "Maybe you should see them."

Once again, she smiled, her head bobbing in a nod while her blue eyes, which had been basically avoiding him for most of the conversation, focused on his own movements a little too closely. It was almost as if she were watching and studying him as well. "Thank you for the tip." That fake grin never even wavered for a bit.

He nodded a couple of beats before turning to look behind him at his open door, as if he had heard something inside that had called for his attention, then drew the look towards Brittany once again. "No problem." He forced upon a grin that definitely wasn't as good as the one feigned across the new girl's lips; he had to give it to her, she was good at pretending. "Tragedy isn't exactly new to Beacon Hills, so the school's really good at scheduling students." He finished, clearing his throat and lifting a hand to rest upon the wooden end of the window. "Anyway, I..." He blinked, lifting his other hand to point behind him with his left thumb. "I should go, I kind of left the stove on and I don't want my food to get burnt." He lied, using that same hand to offer a two fingered wave in her direction.

That feigned smile remained across her features, and Isaac started to wonder how she was able to do it so perfectly even while her heart continued running as if she were scared for her life. "Sure, I hope you feel better soon." She wished, making a genuine wave of confusion wash over his features as he leaned back from the window.

"What?" The decided suspicion lasted, and it riddled him to his bones and unsettled his already bundled nerves enough to wonder what sort of trick she was playing at with such words; was she onto him? Did she know he suspected her and now _she _was playing with _him_?

Suddenly her heart started slowing down. "Your cold." She said, making the frown across his forehead disappear along with an overwhelming sense of stupidity that waved along his being.

He'd been so intent on uncovering her sense of innocence, or lack thereof, that he had forgotten entirely of what he had told her for a reason of his absence at school that day. "Right." All he could do was nod and force a breathed chuckle to escape his lips. "Thanks." What would it serve to pretend he was actually sick when she had clearly caught on that he wasn't? Lying about a cold was much less than hiding whatever it was that made her so paranoid and nervous all the damn time in his books. "Later, new girl." He called; and awkward is as awkward does, for he left her where she sat and headed for his door with feigned purpose. Feigned about the food he had spoken about, but he _did _have a purpose: to tell Scott what he'd learnt, what he suspected; it was the best he could do that day.

"Monstra te in nomini Christi." The words came in such a low and whispered tone that Isaac truly believed he'd imagined them, but he showed no sign of having heard anything at all; if anything, those words only made her the more suspicious.

That night, when he returned to his room with thoughts of sleep, Brittany's window and curtains were shut.

-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-

_**~Three days later~**_

It was happening again; the whole thing. Haunting for a girl that looked so much like Heather it made Stiles want to scream, again; the way he had been doing for the past... how long had it been? Days? Weeks? It felt like months, but it had probably only been a few weeks, or less.

It had taken the intruder at least two days to, as it put it, 'find the right girl', which, truthfully, it was only code of 'find the perfect replica to torture Stiles' mind with.' And it had; it had found a girl that, were it not for her glasses, countless tattoos and tiny crooked nose, could have easily passed for Heather's clone. But as if that wasn't enough, this time, the second time it did it all, it had made Stiles do every single thing. It was him, but it _wasn't _him; it still controlled his hands, his feet, his movements, but _Stiles _was seeing it all, feeling it, being extra aware of everything. The way the girl whimpered, the manner in which she begged him not to strange her, or harm her.

Stiles had cried and apologised all throughout, he'd even yelled at the thing inside his head to stop; and one would think that such had been the worst of it all, but it hadn't been. The worst had happened at the end, on the third step of the mirroring murder: it had given Stiles full control of his body, it had given him the freedom to move his own limbs in a manner he had only begged for before... yet, still like that, Stiles had killed the girl.

At first he hadn't been able to believe it'd left him on the wheel; he'd even thought that the sudden feeling of normalcy, other than its constant words of poison reminding him that it was there, had been subject of his imagination. That maybe, after everything that had happened he was actually losing his mind; something he much rather have happen than what truly had been. The thought had made his might lighten at the prospect, as if some hope he hadn't known he'd been keeping hidden had made him imagine things... but then the intruder whispered again, softly, as if it were testing him. _That's right, Stiles. _It had said. _It's all you now. _

He blinked, lips parting as if the air alone were to free him from the situation, eyes dancing from side to side and up and down as if somehow he could find an exit and escape the whole thing, as if he could run to Scott, or to Lydia, or even to Allison to tell them that all of it had been him. Or, not him, but the _thing _inside him, that they should lock him up, and... the intruder stirred within him, reminding him once again that it was in control. That's when Stiles realised that he might be himself, but he was still a prisoner.

It laughed, it stirred within him with a painful pulsating against his temples and a burn inside his throat. _You're going to finish this one thing for me. _It whispered once again, making the boy frown. _This one thing... _Of course, it hadn't taken long for Stiles to understand the subtext: it wanted him to consciously kill the girl, to perform the last step of the three-step murder and finish its job for it; it wanted him to kill the girl who had _just _woken up.

Stiles instantly started to shake his head. "No." He said, taking a step back from the horribly familiar girl and nearly begging to the air to stop whatever it was making him do. "No, no, please."

_Yes. _It laughed; it laughed because it saw his terror, it saw the way the mere idea of _hurting _the innocent girl with his whole five senses in control made him want to retch the empty insides of his stomach. It wanted him to become a murderer.

His lids lowered to blink, yet opened before his lashes had even graced his cheek. His head shook again as the girl begged him to let her go. "I can't." Stiles spoke to the intruder, yet the girl steps away from him started crying, as if with his words he had just signed her death sentence; which he might as well have done. But no, no—"_No_, I can't do it. I can't—"

The intruder laughed again. _You can, and you will. _For a second it took hold of him again, making his legs walk until he stood behind the girl. Stiles cried out inside his own mind for him to stop, and with an amused breath, it did; it left him in control again. _I will kill your friends. _It reminded him. _One. By. One. _Stiles' eyes shut. _And you will watch and feel as their blood runs through your fingers. _He was trembling, slow trails of fresh tears cleaned stains on his dirty face, leaving clear trails between the dirt along their way. _Unless..._ It taunted.

Stiles almost immediately understood. "You want me to kill her to stop you from killing my friends." The moment he spoke those words, the girl in front of him whimpered and screamed again with a broken call; she cried, and it turned his heart in a knot because all he wanted was to free her, even if it killed him. But it wouldn't kill _him_, it would kill Scott, Lydia, Allison, even Isaac... and his dad, maybe even Melissa.

The intruder bristled within him in amusement. _Good._ It mocked for a moment. _Turns out you really _are _smart, Stiles. _Trembling breaths escaped his lips, and he was sure that if he were to look into a mirror he would see his eyes reddened where they should be white from all the tears he had shed. His heart beat in unhealthy rhythms the moment a sob of his own echoed along with that of the girl on the chair's. He didn't want to hurt anyone, he didn't want to become a murderer, he didn't want more blood to fall on his hands, but he also didn't want his friends to die because of him, let alone _by _him. Did he have any other choice? His sanity and one stranger's life in exchange for the lives of those he loves?

He lifted his hand, already adorned by the knife that was supposed to end the girl's life; he couldn't see from under his glassy eyes, tears of fear invading his sight instead. He had to do it, he had to save them if he could, he had to... "I can't." He said, crumpling within himself and lowering his hand due to the sickly feeling in the middle of his throat; something that had nothing to do with the intruder and everything to do with his disability to kill someone. "Please, I can't." There had to be another way.

_Fine. _It said, angry. _Have it your way. _And it took full control of him again; he became nothing but a shadow within his own mind again; and in only the few seconds it took for it to align _his _hand against the girl's throat, it showed him, in a dream, what it would do. Making him use Alison's favourite knife against her, maybe even stabbing her repeatedly, giving Scott wolfsbane for torture and snapping his neck right after, cutting off Isaac's head, strangling Lydia before slitting her throat slowly, and then finally killing his dad with many of the previously mentioned methods mixed into one.

They do say time in dreams is quicker than real life, and Stiles could now endorse that; because he had genuinely thought he had just signed his friends' death sentences when he came back to being the observer within his own mind. _STOP! _He yelled from the little corner of his brain he could call his own.

And it did; the intruder stopped _just _as it was pressing the material of the blade against the porcelain skin of the Heather look-a-like. "Yes?" It said with his voice, rough and sick to his ears, making Stiles angry, desperate and raging.

A short sob echoed within his mind, his own. Could he do it? Could he possibly put aside his own fears, his own innocence, his own _sanity _for the sake of everyone he loved? Could he kill the girl on the chair? _I'll do it. _He announced, not at all surprised when a horrible echo of a breathed amused laugh escaped through his lips in its voice.

It was wrong, sick; it simply wasn't him. "My," it mocked with that wrong rough tone. "I wonder what changed your mind." And just like that, Stiles was in full control again. It was like having an adrenaline shot given to him after having been under anaesthesia for hours before; and he was there, standing in the middle of the warehouse in the last position the intruder had left his body: knife glistening white with the reflection of the girl's skin, and Stiles breathed. Slowly at first, but then quickly.

There was another option; a way to trick the trickster, in a way. A quick manner to end every single moment of terror for him, his friends, his family: the knife. Suddenly it started looking like a solution, like something he should have thought of before: if he had to sacrifice a life in the name of everyone he loved, then it had to be his own.

_Don't even think about it. _The intruder whispered angry within Stiles' mind, and he felt the beat of his heart picking up in pace with the anticipation of having won, of having thought of something it couldn't have possibly seen coming. But instead of speaking to Stiles with words, the intruder decided to speak with images; it showed him the manner in which his death would only make his work that much easier due to the fact that his body would be completely his. If anything, he'd take away its fun; his death would make things move faster, he'd kill everyone he'd ever known, his death would simply be in vain. He truly had no other choice. _Do it! _It said inside his mind. _Do it now! Kill her or kill everyone you love. _The boy nearly couldn't see due to the amount of tears that clouded his vision. _Do it, Stiles! Do IT. DO IT. _The intruder yelled inside his head, once, and again, and again. Seconds later, with tears streaming from his eyes, his own yell joined its in frustration and anger, and his hand flicked in a quick motion with all the strength he could master against the girl's neck.

The last thing he could remember was her blood spilling onto his hand before he pulled away and stepped back, bending over and attempting to throw up the contents of his stomach, which, of course, were absolutely none. It was an image he would never forget, one that would haunt him for the rest of his life.

Stiles Stilinski had become a murderer.

**To Be Continued.**


	16. Chapter 16: Breaking The Ice

Nothing had been discovered, nothing had been solved, and at such a point, everyone in Isaac's pack was on edge. Normally, the beta would have done anything to get away from school, maybe try to do something to help, but after more than two weeks since Stiles' disappearance and three days since the second body discovery – exactly like the first; exactly like Jennifer's sacrifices –, Isaac found himself desperate for distractions, and much more focused on his other assignment; the one he at least could attempt to keep track of, to feel helpful. Everything else seemed slow and helpless. It was why, that day in school, welcoming any and all distraction, the boy had actually busied himself with scribbling down the notes of his last class of the day.

In the midst of writing down the very last paragraph of the day before the bell rang, Brittany O'Brien, the new girl who sat beside Isaac in both their classes, suddenly jerked and elbowed Isaac's own, causing a long, dark, black line to go across the entire sheet; only a second prior he had heard a pencil snap, yet he hadn't truly processed what the sound had been until blue orbs flicked over to her and the remnants of her pencil. "Bloody hell, I'm sorry." She was saying. "I didn't mean to do that, truly."

Brittany, another focus of Isaac's attention, the assignment he deemed more important than anything solely for the purpose of feeling helpful; he'd been keeping an eye on her, not at all surprised to see her curtains shut more times than not since their neighbouring discovery. The manner in which she moved, graceful and timid yet dangerous somewhere in between, her independence, and the fact that he had not once seen her parents leave the house beside his own all brought upon the continuous suspicion about her; it all seemed too weird, and in a town like Beacon Hills, no one could ever be too trusting of anything that rung w_eird,_ no matter how poor the lead seemed to be. "S'fine." Isaac replied, swallowing back the dryness in his throat and leaning back against his chair before exhaling a long and loud sigh of air through his nose. "Guess now Mr. Wentz can get off my back for participating, even if the notes are crossed off." Part of him really wanted to slip away from that friendly mask he'd put on for the sake of investigation, he was growing desperate, and he was constantly fighting the urge to just pull the girl to some corner and outright ask her if she was evil or supernatural, or _something _that he should even be suspicious of.

But if she were, why would she tell him?

He fought a sigh, watching as Brittany's lips trembled upon a smile and her bright blue orbs lowered rather awkwardly toward her broken pencil and her notebook as if his desperate thoughts were printed across his forehead; and who knew? Maybe they were. It wasn't like his suspicion didn't shine upon her head like a bright red arrow in his eyes, he never stopped watching her if he could help it, observing her for anything weird, and he had found a few things. Maybe he should apologise, but maybe if she confronted him about it he'd have a reason to question her, maybe he'd outright ask her; or maybe he'd think it wrong at the very last minute and blamed his stress and annoying demeanour on the disappearance of his friend. He wouldn't be lying, not really; it all had him on edge, so he'd be admitting only to part of the truth.

The reverie broke like a bubble falling onto stone the moment the bell rung like a fire bell all over the school, and everyone around him, including the new girl – who had achieved to master the art of hurrying up like 'bulls', as she had call them all, solely by the experience of nearly two weeks –, stood from their chairs and started packing up their stuff in order to go home. He did as well, regardless of if _home _was the last place he wanted to go. "Any plans for tonight?" Brittany's calm tone reached him, making his eyes find hers as their hands shifted and moved to place all their belongings away.

Just like everytime they both spoke, their tone was friendly, but guarded; like she was hiding something and he was all too aware of it. Yet still curious; always curious and friendly. "Not really, no." He admitted, clearing his throat and pushing away from his own chair. "I think I'm just going to go home and do nothing." _Which are the truest words I've spoken to you for the past week, new girl. _He completed in his mind, dropping his eyes to his hands as they pulled on the zipper of his bag; nothing but wait around and more random and pointless searches in town, only to come up empty handed and feel even more hopeless than they already were. This was Stiles he was thinking about, it was hard to imagine feeling any more helpless, but he knew it was rather possible. He decided to simply duck his head in a nod while unfurling a (hopefully) warm grin; forbidding himself from slipping away from the friendly demeanour he'd forced himself to be in around her at all times. "You?"

Light blue eyes looked into his own with a grin to mirror his, cracked against her lips; she set her last notebook inside her bag and allowed her head to bob in a short, quick, and confirming nod. "Yeah, same, actually." She admitted, clearing her throat and allowing her eyes to dance from Isaac to the clock at the top of the wall rather calmly; and then a chuckle escaped her lips quite unexpectedly. "I've nothing to do, of course." She continued, shrugging a shoulder and rolling her eyes with a feigned innocence that nearly made Isaac's brows raise. "I'm new and all that. But, um..." She slipped on her bag, finally looking in his direction once again. "Do you want a lift?" He asked, keeping the smile across her lips. "Since we're going in the same direction, 'cause you're my neighbour and all?"

Isaac's first instinct was to flat out turn her down, of course; it wasn't just a personal thing. It had taken Allison and Stiles weeks to build up his trust enough to even let him take him places. So, on assumption, why would that be any different for Brittany? Only, it _was _different; for one, it'd be beneficial to the pack. He could swallow his pride, his nerves, his trust issues, all for helping his alpha and the rest of his friends, couldn't he? He could, to aid, or attempt to lessen Scott's sorrow, who was suffering worse than any of them at such a point.

Ranking lanky fingers through unruly, yet somewhat styled curls, Isaac slid one strap of his backpack onto his shoulder and coiled his fingers around it tightly, forcing his head to duck in a nod. "Sure, why not?" He agreed, encouraging a smile from his lips to remain amiable. "So long as you don't get us lost." In part, it was a joke, so he nudged the girl gently in the side with his elbow, and motioned for her to follow the tide of the crowd in order to lead the way.

People slipped past the doors and along the corridor through his side vision; he could hear his own doubt upon his words, hell, he wouldn't be surprised if she could even _feel _hid hesitation. In all truthfulness, he wouldn't be surprised if she suddenly told him she changed her mind with some made up excuse of a last minute errand of some sort; and even though she was smiling, when she suddenly turned around to face him while they walked along the hallway, hugging her books against her chest, Isaac thought she'd been about to tell him exactly that; but what _did _come out surprised him a little more. "Is it okay if we stop by my locker?" _Really? _Isaac thought. "It won't take long, I swear." She was smiling, calm, friendly, and... was she nervous?

Well, at least he hadn't scared her off. "Sure." He said, nodding once and shrugging a shoulder before motioning with one hand to the space before them. If he remembered the tour with her correctly, then her locker was on the second floor – he did remember it correctly, by the way, keen werewolf senses and all; and as it was evident from his prominent need to find distractions, he wasn't in any sort of rush to get home and wait some more. If anything, it meant trying to read the girl a little more, not like she was an open book of any sort, but try to figure out what exactly it was that was just... off about her. In fact, Isaac thought he heard her sigh; was that relief? Was it annoyance? Was he imagining it? _Give me a sign, new girl. _

But instead of that, as they walked through the crowded main hallway of Beacon Hills High, the girl stood behind him, making him smile rather strangely when she didn't even attempt to hide the fact that she was using him as a shield of sorts; he paused, he dodged, he kept as out of the way as possible from the hustle and bustle that was the student body as they tried to leave the school. Not that he could blame them, enough death and tragedy had happened in those halls alone, it was no wonder a new councillor came into play nearly every semester. Better yet, it was a wonder Beacon Hills High hadn't been shut down entirely, only to have some new one be built next door; shutting things down in the town seemed to be the most popular solution to fix things, after all.

With a short check upon the girl behind him, Isaac moved to allow her to move in front, attempting not to smile at the rather uncomfortable expression that crossed her features for a second before she turned toward the stairs. Isaac frowned, his eyes narrowed shortly with curiosity as she moved and pried away from any contact possible she could accidentally have with the rushing students as they walked beside her, regardless of how much space was actually between them and her; so she really didn't like contact. But that wasn't exactly news, he'd observed as much on the day they met when he unthinkingly hooked his arm on hers to stop her from going the wrong way. He couldn't help but wonder the story behind such discomfort when he heard her sigh a breath of relief once they reached the top of their stairs; even the hold on her bag and her books loosened some and she returned to walking in some sense of tranquillity down the big hall upstairs.

The moment her locker came into view she nearly ran away from his side, once again making the beta have to force the confused raise of his eyebrows up in wonder; and by the time he got to her side she was already attempting to unlock the metallic blue door. There were nerves, cautiousness and even a little anxiety floating in her scent along with that vanilla perfume she used a speck of; her hands moved too quickly as they opened her bag and took some of her books out and placed some others back inside. It was almost like she was trying to hurry for his benefit, because her eyes kept flicking in his direction with a half apologetic half sarcastic gaze every few seconds. It only made the boy perch his frame against the lockers adjacent to hers and look away from her. "Hey, Isaac." Said another member of the lacrosse team as he walked by, nodding his head in the boy's direction.

"Hey." He replied, nodding back in a parting gesture and a rather personally thought awkward lower of his eyes toward the ground right after. It was better than being ignored, sure, but Isaac was still thankful, as odd as it may be, that none of them ventured further to become his friend. He was _perfectly _okay with Allison, Scott and Stiles; even Derek. He'd probably think of Melissa as a friend too, but he thought it weird to call his guardian as such.

The loud sound of Brittany's locker door shutting broke him away from his thought bubble, and when he looked in her direction again she was closing her bag and fixing her hair so it didn't get caught under its strap. "Okay, done." She announced, her eyes lifting away from her black and white shoulder bag in order to look up to his own; for a moment he couldn't help but wonder how she didn't get stepped on or crashed against more often due to her height. "Cheers, we can go." And he nodded, attempting not to grin at the rather stereotypical thank you he had gotten from the British new girl. "Do you need us to stop by your locker too?" She asked, placing both her hands around the strap of her bag.

His head quickly shook as his foot kicked him from the locker wall and led him astride toward the stairs one more time. "Nah, I'm good." He looked away, focusing on getting to the stairs. "I've Study Hall first period on Monday, I usually don't take anything home unless I'm being f_orced_ to study, you know." He shrugged, looking over in her direction again. "Thanks, though." He added, because if he was going to pull it off then he'd at least have to act a little chivalrous, and not like he had a stick stuck up his ass. Truly, it was a wonder she had even offered to drive him home – she nodded, smiling as they walked and shrugging a shoulder.

Actually... come to think of it, it wasn't; because if she was the perpetrator, like he tried avoiding suspecting that she was, then she _had_ a reason to keep him in her line of sight, maybe keep him from snooping. _Well, Ha Ha to you, 'cause that's _exactly _what I'm doing by accepting your car ride. _Even such allotted a smirk to etch his features; something he quickly attempted to hide by rubbing his palm against his face in a fake yawn.

She walked in front of him as they rounded towards the stairs, yet disappointment suddenly wafted from her in crashing waves that drowned even her vanilla perfume, and he couldn't help but perk his brow in silent curiosity and confusion. He hadn't said as much as eight words, so w_hy _would she feel the need to be disappointed? Not that he could ask, really. _Hey, you _smell _disappointed, what's up with that? _Yeah, that'd go over really well.

Not.

He sighed. With fingers from both hands coiling the straps of his bag, he took the stairs two at a time, moving to her side instead of following behind. The halls had steadfastly emptied, and he found himself not having to be as cautious with where he stepped and walked other than making sure he didn't accidentally walk into or step on Brittany once again. He was turning this way and then that, with the door to the student parking in view, when it hit him like a shocking reveal that he had no clue what kind of car Brittany drove.

In fact, apart from her being new, dancing ballet, having a love for that band on her bag, and being studious enough to take notes in class (because she'd continued taking every single note among ones of her own even after her first week in school), Isaac knew _nothing_ about her; which truly only meant that the assignment he thought he was doing a great job off, had been in fact not been that well done. Sure, he knew there was something weird about her, he knew he'd never seen her parents leave the house, he knew she liked to have posters in her walls and she liked to have snark battles with him without actually thinking too much about it, but none of those things gave off any sort of _crucial _information to even realise anything helpful to inform Scott about.

What a great wolf Isaac Lahey was. She was his neighbour, literally lived across from his own bedroom window and he knew next to nothing about her. _God help me. _

By the time they both stepped onto the parking lot, Isaac noticed Brittany's hands tight and nearly white at the knuckles against the strap of her shoulder bag; though he'd have liked to treat the new girl like anyone else instead of a momentary source of information, he knew he simply couldn't; if he did, then the whole point of accepting the car ride would be completely lost. "Everything okay?" He truly wouldn't have asked anything if he wasn't supposed to make sure she wasn't some sort of dangerous threat.

It was rather clear she was attempting to hold back _something_, anxiety projected from her like perfume as they walked and she looked in his direction with a quick (and rather frowny) nod of her head. "Yeah, of course, why wouldn't it be?" _I don't know, you tell me. _He thought, yet shook his head to accompany a innocent shrug. And he was going to say something, he was, but then she stopped right in front of a very shinny, very clean and very luxurious black BMW that regardless of his lack of interest for cars, almost literally stole his breath away. "Oh, for the love of Merlin's trousers." She suddenly said, making him realise that he'd stopped right alongside her to basically stare at the car before him; she was rummaging inside her bag, moving notebooks, books, papers all to the side as she searched for something. "I'm sorry, I—" She sighed, blinking rapidly as her eyes flicked from her bag to him and back again with a nervous expression. "I usually have my keys in my hand by the time I get here."

Well, she w_as _usually incredibly confident, moving and swaying as if she owned half the world; yet she'd been acting a little more off than usual for the past few minutes. "It's okay." Was it? "Take your time." So the car was _hers? _At least it was another thing he could learn from her: either her parents had very good income or had friends in high places, because, old or not, the BMW in front of him was a _very _nice car; and if he was being honest with himself, it totally fit what little of the personality he'd been able to gather from her thus far. He even thought about circling the sleep black vehicle to observe it further, but stopped himself from such an act, because, cool car or not, he simply wasn't that sort of person. Instead, he looked up when the telltale sign of keys jingling echoed in his direction, and grinned. "Got 'em?"

She didn't take long to smile apologetically in his direction. "Yeah." And as she chuckled, she moved rather quickly to unlock the driver's door; and with motions that seemed nearly automatic and out of a routine, she got in and threw her shoulder bag toward the back seat before she looked in his direction with that friendly grin once again and motioned with her head to her side, inviting him to get in, Isaac guessed. And as he walked around the front of the car toward the passenger seat, she reached across to open his door and sat straight once again before leading her keys toward the ignition.

"Thank you." He said, slipping inside the frame of the door once he'd been able to; and he was nestling inside the soft interior of the car when a rather loud and headache inducing influx of noise in the form of guitar riffs and drums echoed in a high volume from the speakers of her car. Simply too loud by the amount of attention he was paying to the sound of her heart; damn wolf senses.

Only seconds later, her hand had quickly lifted to twist the volume dial toward a much lower intensity that had the mirror of her earlier apologetic gaze shift in his direction. "I'm _so_ sorry." She said, genuinely making him smile for a short moment; short only because he had to remind himself why he was even in her car in the first place. "I completely forgot I left that in such top volume."

Okay, so he _had _recognised the song as Hell's Bells by AC/DC, only momentarily uncomfortable due to the sensitivity of his hearing if he allowed it. "It's no problem, really." If he was being honest with himself, he would not at all have expected such a tune to be echoing from her speakers, with how quiet and privately confident she was, even with her mostly black attire. "Nice music, though." He smiled as he allowed his hands to lead the seat belt to snap into its buckle; wolf or not, the new girl could be a reckless driver, he wasn't going to take any chances. Well, next thing he knew, she was driving off and manoeuvring out of the school parking lot with smooth clean movements and the authorized speed limit, only mirroring his actions upon her own belt the moment they had officially driven past the school grounds. So she followed the rules; good. "I suppose I don't have to give you directions, right?" He suddenly said, looking at her. "I mean, you've made it to and from school just fine on your own thus far...?"

At least he made her smile that sardonic and knowing grin he had come to identify in her for a bit. "Well," she shrugged, her eyes flicking from side to side before stepping on the pedal to turn on a street rather smoothly. "I've woken up well late in the last couple of days, and I've still made it in time before the second bell, so you tell me." With that sarcastic smirk adorning her lips she looked in his direction in a second-long glance and looked away just as fast, toward the road.

Well, at least he could make her smile. Now if _only _he could figure out a way to ask her what he truly wanted to know about her while they were both stuck within the confines of a car; thus, where she couldn't escape his questions...

That'd be truly great, wouldn't it?

**To Be Continued.**


	17. Chapter 17: Something Wicked

"So you like the classics, then." Brittany stated with a two-second glance in Isaac's direction; the tone of a Pink Floyd song echoing from the speakers as nothing but a background.

He nodded along, not only to her, but to the music as well as his eyes skimmed across the windshield to land on her and her seat, mentally forming a list of bands and songs, should the little joust continue on and he had to mention some. "Yeah, I do, actually." He admitted. "Well..." He shrugged. "I listen to anything, really; I guess it depends on what mood you find me in." He paused, for pondering sake. "Don't let the scarves deter you from the extent of my awesome." He added, crooking a sideways grin and airing a laugh, an earnest one, at that, due to the fact that the girl's eyes had rolled so dramatically he almost had to tell her to keep her eyes on the road.

So people – mostly just Stiles – made fun of him due to the fact that he sometimes liked to wear scarves, but Isaac felt that they had no right; especially Stiles with his graphic tees paired with plaid over shirts. "Well, I happen to think scarves are cool." The girl finally said, clearing her throat and keeping that familiar smirk across her lips; only daring a look in his direction once she had to stop at a red light. "So, the fact that you seem to have a music taste similar to mine only makes you half as awesome as me, tall guy." Her shockingly blue orbs remained on his for a few more seconds before looking away to press the pedal down on the BMW and speed away and across once the light had turned green.

_Focus, Isaac. _Why couldn't he think of a way to interrogate her without throwing her off? If she was a innocent slightly-too-weird-for-her-own-good human he didn't want to scare her or make her think he belonged in Eichen House; if she wasn't (which he heavily suspected she wasn't), he wanted to simply just _know _already. Yet the possibility that he was wrong stopped him from taking any action; he simply felt his mouth falling slack and hanging agape as his eyes roamed to the side again to glace at her smirking features. "You say you think scarves are cool, but I've never seen you wear one." He said instead of his thoughts, praying for a direction where he could innocently wonder upon her nature without coming off as stranger than she probably already thought he was. "So that makes you only halfas awesome as _me_, new girl." He slouched in his seat, one arm draped out the open window into the bright California sunlight and the other pocketed in his sweater.

Someone, somewhere had to give him props; there he was, having dangerous and interrogative thoughts toward the blue eyed girl yet the words that left his lips remained accurate to the conversation and at a normal pace of speech. Was anyone giving him credit? Probably not. Did the pack even know that he was hanging out with someone strange to him in comparison to them? Definitely not; at least no one other than Scott, and probably Allison due to the fact that he'd had to text her at some point to let her know to not wait for him to drive him home. Either way, he deserved props. Big ones.

The girl suddenly sighed, yet he nearly thought he'd imagined it due to the smile that remained on her lips before she decided to speak once again. "I'll have you know that I come from a place of nearly eternal rain." She said, her smile shone slightly half-forced, and Isaac's attention to detail spiked up once again. "This whole too-warm-to-breathe thing is well new to me." She shrugged. "And _I_, for one, seem unable to master upon the gift you seem to have to give up comfort in the name of fashion." What a strange manner of speech she had.

If only she was not a suspicious character at all and he could jest around with her as he would if he were flirting with a girl he thought was attractive; because she made him laugh, earnestly too. That wasn't common in people other than his friends. "Then maybe it simply means no one is fit for California but me." He settled back against the seat as a lazy roll of his eyes landed his sight outside of his window, where the hustle and bustle of town life suddenly diminished into that of the long spot of forest prior to the neighbourhoods, avenues and calm normality of Beacon Hills' suburbs.

His phone buzzed, making him slide the hand out of his pocket with his phone in its grasp; almost making him unable to feel the rather comfortable silence that had ensued in the car quite suddenly as he unlocked the device. _Got away from veterinarian duties. _Said Scott's text. _Going home to plan out our next move to find Stiles. _Isaac had to fight a sigh; he wasn't about to admit it, but he'd almost given any and all hope to find the human in the pack anytime soon. With so many days searching to come up empty, he was growing a little tired; but, again, he couldn't admit it to anyone but himself. It's why he simply replied to the text with a vague acknowledgement and returned his phone to his pocket.

It was clear by the silence in the car that both teens were lost in their own thoughts; thoughts that, in Isaac's case, once again slipped into a wondering water upon his need to know if the girl beside him was a threat or not. And repeatedly he found himself wishing upon her normalcy so he could maybe even use her as a simple human distraction away from the pack's needs. Selfish of him, he was aware, but wished nonetheless as he stared out into the greenery that halfway blurred past him. What if she was normal and he could then make a fool out of himself over asking her out, what if she was normal and he could actually end up using her at some point like that break from the world he knew into a simpler one where he could pretend he wasn't a werewolf that helped saving the town more times than not? What if, what if, what if. So many wonders upon wonders that brought along the smallest of frowns into the middle of his forehead.

What if she was normal and thought him insane when he finally decided to ask her what her deal was?

"How do I know if I can trust you?" She suddenly whispered in such a low tone Isaac actually thought he'd imagined it; but, like the flip of a switch, the aura in the car went from a strange sense of calm to a heavy air of truths untold. And the door he'd been waiting to open for an opportunity swung slowly upon his mind like the creaking of a haunted house that made a slow travel of his eyes from the trees outside, to the person sitting next to him; her hands were so tight on the wheel that her knuckles were white and he actually started worrying about her ability to break the material, and the anxiety and worry he had caught earlier all over her being returned like an explosion pouring from her every fibre.

Swallowing thickly, Isaac's hands twisted the fabric of his shirt, and he couldn't help but be consumed by thoughts of wonder upon w_hy _a question like that would work its way out of her mouth. So consumed by the thoughts, in fact, that he halted from answering her inquiry right away, regardless if it had been directed purposely at him or if it was a mindless worded out thought like he suspected it was. The air between the two grew thick, and somehow, Isaac just _knew _that things were about to change; he could _feel it_; smell the confession on her. With nostrils flared, he parted his lips to inhale sharply, forming a few coherent thoughts on the way, before he exhaled and dared to air them. "I didn't ignore you like anyone else ordered to give a tour to the new girl would have, did I?" He looked in her direction again, noticing the half painful expression across her features. Had she been hoping he hadn't heard? "I accepted your car ride without exactly knowing much about you, didn't I?" He continued. "That involves some sense of trust from my part." _Or a desperate need for information, _he completed in his head. _Not that you need to know __that__. _

And just like that Brittany started to feel guilty, to feel wrong and as if she'd ran into a closed off alleyway where Isaac stood in the middle of her only exit, and the way in which her eyes continued upon the road in front of her quite forcefully wasn't at all missed by the boy at her side; in fact, he could sense her guilt, he could sense her hesitation, and he fed off of it, his suspicions arising in incredibly high levels as he awaited for her words. "I know it's unfair of me to think so, Isaac, but can you blame me?" She asked, her eyes flicking up at the bright sky then to the traffic light that had turned red and made her foot step on the break once again; her hands fell heavy against her lap as he waited, with extreme concern and confusion shining upon his every fibre, for her words to find their way out of her mouth as much as for the light to turn green. "I know you didn't accept the lift just to get to know your neighbour." She finally said, making a breath catch in the middle of Isaac's throat the moment her bright blue orbs lifted in his direction, focusing on him to study every second of his reaction. "I know what you are." She admitted. "I know what you think of me, and I can assure you, you're wrong."

His heart was beating fast, and his eyes remained squinting; it took him longer than it should to process each of her words. He could hear them, understand them, but when he attempted to put them together, they simply made no sense to him; he hadn't said one thing about his abilities to her, nor done anything that would display them to her in one way or another, so how could she know what he was? How could she know he wasn't in her car just for the fun of it? And worse yet... had she been coaxing him along the whole time? "Is that so?" He asked, leaning forward in his seat, swallowing again and sizing her with his eyes as her head bobbed in a confirming nod with her unblinking gaze upon his own. "Why don't you enlighten me, then?" He encouraged. "What am I?" Antisocial? Dickish? Not witty? _Or_ had he assumed right? Did she _know _he was a werewolf? He couldn't look away from her, his heart beat in anticipation and his breath got caught in his throat, because if she _did _know what he was, then he had a sneaking suspicion that his thoughts weren't safe, and he became highly tempted to think about porn just to test out the theory. If the instance had been different he probably would have laughed, but it wasn't, it was tense, and none of it was at all funny in any stance; in fact, her head hung for a few moments and a v_ery _loud sigh escaped through her lips. How dramatic, the way she'd decided to start the conversation as well as the way he had continued it; but, truly, there simply was no turning back.

Both their heads ticked in the direction of a honking car the moment it reached their ears, and her own flicked toward the now green light with another echoing sigh escaping from her lips in a short puff. "Werewolf." She then said, glancing in Isaac's direction for a couple of seconds prior to a second honk coming from behind them. "You're a bloody werewolf." It was all she said before she finally shifted in her seat to push the gas and move the car forward; that is, before using the frustration suddenly built up inside her, and the silence after her admitting words to a shocked Isaac, to speak before he decided to _do _anything, even as she drove. "And don't you buggin' dare think of porn, Lahey." She warned, making Isaac's eyes widen shortly before they looked away from her. "I've enough of that already from the blokes at school." Was there a smoother way to admit her mind reading abilities to him? Probably, but clearly both teens had ran out of options to do anything smoothly.

Isaac didn't know what shocked him more; the fact that she'd accurately told him of his own nature, or the fact that she _could _read minds and had openly admitted to it by mentioning porn. He truly did look like a wide-eyed cartoon character with the extent in which he gaped at his own knees in shock; he'd thought about so much since he'd met her, given away so many secrets, unwillingly and... _Actually, quit reading my mind, Brittany. _He thought, narrowing his eyes as he thumped back against his own seat; surely she couldn't just read thoughts for the hell of it. No way, not in Beacon Hills; shit like that didn't just happen. It was _always_ bigger than they thought: Kanima, werewolves, banshees, Deaucalion; mind reading seemed simply way to simple. "So what are you, then?" He asked with a short air of annoyance, of vulnerability as he finally looked in her direction once again. "You know all of my secrets, apparently. Why don't you shed some light on yourself?" _And another thing, new girl. _He added in his head. _I expect you to keep shit your hear in here to yourself. _He was justified in getting a little embarrassed and slightly defensive, solely for the fact that he'd unwillingly first-hand given her the 'sob story' that his life was and probably had gained unwanted pity upon doing so. _Great. _

Maybe his personally directed thoughts should have made her smile, or laugh, or s_omething _other than the frown that had taken home across her forehead; to have him know she'd seen and _heard _everything... it made the air of guilt wave from her deeper than before. "I'm not going to run round telling everyone 'bout you, or _what_ you are." She then said, keeping her eyes to the front of the road. "I will only explain myself to you if you swear on the life of everyone you love that you will grant me the same right." The hold of her hand upon the wheel tightened again, and Isaac's eyes fell in curiosity toward it.

Tentatively, his eyes washed up and down her features and her ears focused upon her heart, searching and seeking for any hint or notable sign that she was telling anything but the truth. Long moments of silence and his observation passed before he was able to deem it so that she was being entirely sincere and nothing more. "If you've been inside my head all this time, then you know I can't promise that." He admitted. "I've to tell Scott."

Her lids fluttered for a short moment as she nodded. "Your alpha." The hold upon the wheel loosened some as a sigh escaped her lips.

"Yeah, my alpha." He gulped. "And the rest of my pack, too."

She nodded, taking a gulp of her own without looking away from the road before her. "Alright, but that's it."

"Who else would I tell?" He asked, forcing himself not to roll his eyes as some sort of impatience crawled up into him. "They'd all think I'm nuts if I did. 'Oh, hey, did you know the new girl's a mind reader? No? Man, she is.', Yeah, that'll go well with landing me in Eichen House." Isaac didn't know how to feel about it all; how to feel about the fact that he had unknowingly given up the secret of what he was, of his past. Granted, he lived in Beacon Hills, and really, no secret actually remained safe; but that didn't stop any of them from trying to protect them and keep them safe; in turn, keep the humans safe and in their oblivious state of mind. He nearly didn't notice the silence that ensued in the car, but he swallowed thickly realising he had nowhere to run, he had nowhere to tuck tail and hide out. The wolf inside him whimpered, wishing to evade, afraid of being scolded and lectured for his wrong doings. But he had to stone his features and deal with the situation first hand; a realisation that only led his lips to shake out an exasperated sigh before his tongue slicked his lips where they'd gone dry. "Yeah, fine." He allowed, assuming the silence was due to the fact that the girl still awaited for his pact. "I promise not to tell anyone but my pack. Now, what are you?" He was simply desperate to know, because if she revealed to be something dangerous, something that he could connect with the grievances that haunted the town, then he would have to immediately take action; if not... _Well, we'll cross that bridge if we get to it. _

The girl sighed, her eyes flicking in his direction for a short second before looking over at the empty road before them; the frown carved in between her brows and the sudden unwelcome feeling of vulnerability beating at her insides that made her sympathize with his desperation after knowing she was aware of his secrets. The idea of someone knowing... She had one and a million reasons to talk herself out of wording out her nature, but all of them were overshadowed by the fact that she wanted him to stop thinking of her as the enemy. "I'm a witch." She simply stated, clearing her throat and taking a deep breath as if a weight had lifted from her shoulders. "And I'm not evil, Isaac." She added. "I'm truly not."

Isaac simply couldn't speak.

When he got bit by a guy in the middle of the night by choice with the promise of becoming a werewolf, he overcame certain obstacles; such as a raging lunatic of an 'uncle' in Peter; such as an alpha pack coming to claim two of his pack mates, such as a vengeance that came from an ugly broad that got her life from a tree, in Jennifer. So, when the girl sitting next to him proclaimed to be something supernatural, his brain didn't flat out go to something as harmless as a witch; in fact, as far as his brain was aware, witches were folklore, so he felt that he was completely justified in the act that his jaw fell slack and his features contorted to confusion and shock. There Brittany sat, confessing to not only being a witch, but one that didn't practice evil doings, at that. Of all the crazy things he had expected her to say, it d_efinitely _hadn't been _that._ He was simply completely and utterly stunned into silence. How was he even supposed to react to her words? Ask her if she broiled witches brew? Casted spells? Created potions? Flew in a broom?

She actually snorted shortly before clearing her throat, and Isaac solely narrowed his eyes for a moment before deciding to latch onto her last words in order to further advance them. "How do I know that you aren't evil?" He asked, assuring to himself that she wasn't just saying such a thing to clear her name now that he knew that she was aware he held her as a suspect. "How do I know that you're not just saying that to appease me?" He said out loud, regardless of if he knew his thoughts were being listened to. "Furthermore..." He added. "..._how _do I know that you're telling the truth?" He looked in her direction finally once again. "About being a witch, I mean. Seems pretty small of a thing to pick in a town like this."

As soon as her amusement over his thoughts had come, it left, making that grin she hadn't even realised she'd presented, waver away from its place as he watched; and just like that the guilt, anxiety and hesitation returned in an overpowering cloud upon her being. One that solely made the wolf frown shortly in near mirror to her. "I've been alive long enough, seen enough malice, to know that I don't have to be a monster just because of what I can do." She suddenly said, slowing the car to a gentle stop upon the nearing yellow-to-red light. "That I can _help_ instead of do evil; to use my... gift, or curse, for good." She sighed, nodding as the car came to a full stop.

Her eyes shifted in his direction; and it was evident to both of them that he wasn't at all attempting to hide his scepticism, and it only made her want to sigh again. "Fine." Her throat cleared, head bobbing in a nod before she decided to look in front of her once again; suddenly the need to prove herself overcame her, and she relaxed in her seat, closed her eyes and her neck cracked with a short motion she nudged her head in. There was a silence, a short one; one in which Isaac observed her with a frown in the middle of his forehead. A frown that disappeared into the familiar sense of shock from seconds prior the moment her eyes opened once again to reveal a complete lack of colour; the bright blue had gone, even the pupils had disappeared. They were clouded, as if a thin white layer had covered them quite suddenly; it was spooky. "Ut mihi concedes abs te peto." She whispered, so lowly and softly that Isaac probably wouldn't have heard it had he not been gifted with acute hearing as a side effect of his werewolf nature. "Mihi det te petit volumes nubs haec radiys, tonitru caelum dare libertatem praebuerimus."

As the words repeated in the same soft tone, a loud roar of thunder echoed in the otherwise perfectly calm California exterior, making him look away from her spooky features only to see a sky that had been absolutely blue only seconds ago slowly start to become tainted with the colour of heavy grey clouds; and as her nearly quiet words continued the radio in the car started echoing with static, quickly followed by the glove compartment right in front of him flying open and spilling its contents; where they should have fallen to the floor in a mess, they floated into the air and allotted his brows to furrow: a pack of gum, a small bag of Cheetos, a pen, a little flashlight. The roaring thunder continued, the wind picked up leaves from the dry floor and made the trees dance with the speed of the breeze, a small tornado of fallen leaves danced across the road and crashed against the front of the car.

Quick glances went from the phenomena before him to the girl at his side, more than once; one and a million questions piling up in the middle of his brain as her heart started speeding up accompanied by a strange pine scent that slipped into his nostrils and made his eyes fall away from the floating objects before him toward the girl once again. And then her words stopped, replaced by soft and panting breaths slipping between parted lips and the empty cloud of her eyes dissipating to reveal the familiar bright blue upon them. And at that moment, the wind outside halted, the clouds that had shadowed the sky dispersed like blown smoke into the pretty blue of a cloudless expanse, once again bringing a peaceful fall silence into the atmosphere, and the things that had been floating in the air fell against his lap followed by the quieting of the radio back into the instrumental song it had been playing moments prior. "You believe me now?" She said between quietly panted breaths before her eyes shifted in his direction once again, her chest heaving shortly, yet calming as the seconds passed by.

In all honestly, Isaac felt winded. Actually, he felt as if he'd just ran a marathon in his sleep and woken up exhausted because of it. Sure, he'd known other supernatural things existed, but... w_itches_? It simply seemed so cliché, and Brittany looked so... _normal _regardless of the 'long time' she'd been alive (which confused him, by the way).Yet he'd seen it, he'd been witness to it, everything that had happened, he'd been more aware of it all than he probably thought he could have been, he... "Holy shit..."

He'd been nearly speechless.

**To Be Continued.**


	18. Chapter 18: Media and Reality

The fact that he was not launching at her to kill her was all Brittany O'Brien could suddenly think of in gratefulness while she fretted in his mute reverie after she decided to start driving again; there had been a silence, one that became almost deafening due to the lack of even a thought until some bump on the road shook the boy enough to start thinking once again. And when he did, everything in his mind became questions, once and again, more and more, one after the other in a speed that overwhelmed both of them at the same time. But she took a deep breath, turning the wheel to take the last turn toward the street that would lead them both to their respective neighbouring homes. "I know you have a lot of questions." She said, without looking in his direction. "And I'm willing to answer them if it'll mean you'll stop thinking of me as a threat." Her hand reached to push on the button to silence the music, however low the volume, in an attempt to make Isaac know that her attention was solely on him. "I can swear to you that I didn't come here to cause any trouble."

Parting his lips to expel the shortest and most exasperated of sighs, Isaac cocked an eyebrow and spared a few glances from the familiar road ahead of him toward the mysterious new girl beside him; in a place like Beacon Hills, with people like himself, not thinking of someone or something as a threat became nearly impossible. In fact, with a life like his, not thinking of someone as a threat _was _impossible; in the other hand, if he was going to attempt getting more information without ensuing a fight, he'd have to play by the girl's rules and do his best to attempt to follow them. "Fine." He said, clearing his throat right after from the shocked knot that had formed in the middle of his throat. "Alright, I'll try not to; that's about as good as you'll get from me right now." He swallowed dryly as an elbow propped against the window.

She sighed, but her head bobbed in a nod while the pads of her fingers drummed gently against the wheel. "Alright." She echoed in that accent of hers, still forcing herself, rather evidently, to keep her eyes away from him regardless of the many times he kept his eyes on _her_. "Ask anything you need to." She encouraged. "I will be completely truthful with you, Isaac, you have my word." The vow came sure as the velocity of the car lowered when they started approaching the two houses. "But, I warn you," she suddenly added. "You might not believe half of what I tell you, which I'm aware would make this all pointless."

With the car slowing considerably, he felt his teeth worry over the soft flesh of his lower lip; two seconds prior he'd been nearly drowned in questions for the new girl, yet once the door of an invitation to ask her had opened, he simply couldn't think of any even if he tried. It wasn't like Brittany was pressuring him into asking anything, not by a long shot; yet, he felt as if _he _were the one under the spotlight, which was stupid to think due to the fact that it was _her _nature that was under questioning, not his. So he crossed his arms, and forced his lips to part to speak whatever decided to leave them without thinking. "You mentioned something about living long enough and seeing enough..." He started, prying his eyes away from the window as her hands shifted the wheel to park in the empty space in front of her home. "...what did you mean by that?" He frowned. "You don't look any older than I am, and I don't see how that—Why would I find comfort in these answers? How do _I _know I can trust you? And what was your motive in coming to Beacon Hills?" Alright, so maybe asking questions wasn't actually as hard as he'd thought it would be; he'd just needed to open his mouth and talk. Yes, his brain remained blank, yet apparently his lips had an ability to remember inquiries; and somewhere amidst the plethora of questions he'd thrown at her, the look in his eyes had gone from curious to determined. At least he hadn't chocked.

And he felt nearly annoyed when a smile crossed in the middle of her lips even as a short sighed breath left her nose once her hand shifted toward the key to kill the engine. "One question at a time, tall guy." Her tone bled sarcasm for a moment, but that little smirk that annoyed him and adorned her lips wavered shortly after, when, finally, crystal blues shifted to look in his direction with the shadow of a serious demeanour. "Alright, I guess I can start with the easiest one." She announced, nodding once in agreement and clearing her throat. "I don't have a hidden agenda by moving here, I assure you." She started. "I don't have a motive, or a bloody evil plan, or any of that sod sort. I was..." She frowned, feeling a nearly silent scoffed breath escape her lips as her eyes fell for a short moment. "...I guess I felt drawn here somehow." She looked up. "I saw this gaff in a web page"—her hand lifted to point toward the house right outside the windshield before it fell against her lap—"It looks a tad like a house I lived in, a very long time ago; which... uh..." She sighed once again, her head shaking a couple of times before a smile returned in a halfway forced manner onto her lips. "I reckon that leads me to the hardest answer, I..." This time her eyes simply wouldn't fall away from him; she was ready, she was aware, prepared for... well, anything. "When I said I've seen quite a bit in my time, I mean my age; I'm not as young as you think I am, Isaac. And I truly doubt you'll believe me if I just tell you, but I can assure you... I can prove it." She nodded, her eyes dancing upon his as if she were to be able to see, solely like that, if he was at all believing her words; which, judging by the frown in the middle of his forehead, and the attentive eyes, he might be. "And _because_ of what I've seen..." She continued after a couple of beats. "I might have an idea about what's going on in this town as of late, and if I'm right, the very reason you can trust me, Isaac, is in the fact that I might be able to help you."

If he hadn't been paying attention before, the words last uttered would have called upon him like a slap to the face; they riled the wolf inside him and made a more impulsive, animalistic sense want to jump at the chance to find answers to present them to his alpha. "You _might_ be able to help us?" He echoed as his frame righted with attention to swivel in his seat to face her completely. "What is _that_ supposed to mean?"

She sighed, following suit with the shifting of her frame so she could face the wolf completely. "It means I had a vision." She then replied. "That day in the woods, when I found the body of that poor girl; I know that you saw me, Isaac. I know that you heard me; I didn't, at the time, but then you were standing in your room and I could hear it all..." Isaac's eyes nearly forced upon a narrow, his jaw locking, her every reaction in that memory making more sense by the second –She had heard and seen everything he'd attempted to be subtle about that day inside his mind, no wonder she'd been so on edge. "I didn't scream because of _her_." She finally said. "I screamed because of what I s_aw _when I touched her dried blood on the ground." The thing was that he listened to her heart while she spoke; and the heavy rhythm had remained all throughout, unchanging, fearful, but not accompanied by the scent of lies. And it worried him as much as it gave him hope; it made his eyes shift away from hers toward the windshield now at his side. One look out the glass showed him the house she had said had looked like an old one of hers, and a shift of his eyes allowed him to see that Scott was home, with Allison (due to her car parked in their driveway), probably waiting on him.

Would they _really _be mad that he was late if he followed the new girl inside and discovered whatever it was she could show him? If bad came to worse and he wounded up dead, then at least they'd know he died trying to help them, right? "I'm not saying I believe you." He admitted, swallowing his fears for the past and anxieties for the unknown before looking in her direction again, coiling his fingers around the lever of the door prior to opening it rather harshly. "But if you're going to explain any of those answers about age, visions or whatever else, better get a move on, new girl." And then he exited the car with no other word.

She hadn't been able to help it; maybe it was dramatic, maybe she was simply inexperienced in trying to convince a teenage werewolf that she wasn't as bad as he made her out to be, but when he left the car with thought of his death in a near sacrificial tone, her eyes rolled a bit and an exhaled sigh echoed along with the thud of the car's door closing on his side in near defeat while her eyes focused on the now empty space where he'd been sitting. "I'm not going to kill you, for fuck's sake." She whispered to the empty air in the car before she allowed her hands to reach for her shoulder bag on the back seat and tugged on the handle of her own door in order to follow on his steps and exit the car. The soft thud of the door closing behind her echoed as she looked in his direction with a heavy gaze that he completely missed before she made her way up the four stairs onto her front porch after the couple of beeps that would safely lock her BMW.

The reason he wasn't looking at her was because he'd felt eyes on _him_, and it made him curious upon the insides of his home. He'd been able to see Scott from a window, and with rather parted lips and a careful expression he motioned toward the girl with his head in a manner he only hoped appeased Scott enough for an answer; and he knew that, the moment he got back home, his alpha would have one and a few questions for him. Questions that he very much hoped to have the answer for by the time he was done with the girl; and as Scott nodded from the window, Isaac's hand lifted in a semi wave in his direction. "You comin'?" Came the girl's voice from behind him, making Isaac's whole frame twist rather quickly only to see that she was standing right outside her already opened door with a questioning glance.

When he looked back toward the window, Scott was gone. "Yeah." Isaac simply said, turning his frame around and walking with hurried steps across her lawn and up her steps until he'd pressed through the threshold of her home with a motion of her hand before she followed.

As soon as he did, his eyes took in the scenery of the house; it was clean, that was the very first thing he noticed with the echo of the closing door after Brittany had stepped inside; it was _very _clean, _very _organized and also very, very new. Just like her notes; how predictable. But it was nothing like what he imagined a witch's house would look like, it was light, it was a weird mixture of modern and vintage that strangely enough worked, but... well; it was... _normal. _

He wasn't at all surprised when she suddenly chuckled. "Yeah, sorry." She said in a sardonic tone, making his eyes land on her to be witness to the grin that crossed her lips. "No upside down crosses, or images of the devil, or cauldrons and pointy hats here." He had to roll his eyes as her hands moved to drop her keys on the little plate on the small table by the door and pulled the strap of her bag over her head to drop it right beside that same table. "No brooms to fly on, either." She joked, recalling the things he'd thought when she'd first admitted to being a witch. "You'd be surprised at the kind of bollocks the media has twisted our image to be with time." She rolled her eyes. "Just 'cause a broad was ugly and caught with witchcraft once they all assumed we all looked the same."

Isaac's brows had risen as his eyes scanned his surroundings with a deeper observation while she walked past him toward a hallway beside the stairs; he wasn't interested in what the media had done to her kind, not at that moment; all he wanted were the answers he was promised. "Where are your parents?" He suddenly asked, following along, by her encouragement, in her steps.

"Dead." She announced, with a soft sombre air wavering around the edges of the simple lone word.

So they had _that _in common. Isaac sighed, completely unable to stop his next words even if he'd actually attempted to. "Did you kill them?" He didn't dare to be surprised the moment she stopped on her tracks with a look of disbelief and short annoyance that made him stop walking three or four steps away from her as well.

"Really?" She asked, partly hurt orbs focusing on his own with that same disbelief; any sign of her previous amusement completely gone from her features; and Isaac became instantly sure that if she wasn't trying to clear her name she'd probably have thrown him out of her home with no more words. Yet, instead, her head shook, a breath escaped her lips with pushed annoyance and her eyes rolled. "No, I didn't bloody kill them." She walked away from him a few steps more until she'd reached the door to her basement; and, as she spoke, her hands lifted to disappear under her hair toward the back of her neck. "My mum died giving birth to me." She told him, and when her hands lowered, he realised she'd unclasped her necklace: a key that she was holding gently and leading toward the basement's lock. "My dad died in a fire." At that last, her heart skipped a beat, and the essence of guilt pried from her being in short spasms mixed with relief and sadness.

And he was going to ask, he was going to say that he knew she was hiding something when it came to her dad, but then another realisation hit him; one that made his brow furrow and his eyes shift to look at his surroundings once again: If her parents were dead... then how the hell could she own the house? She looked at least eighteen, but... no one would actually sell a house to someone so young, right? "I assure you, I'm well aged to own a house." She responded immediately, and when his eyes landed on her once again she was fixing the necklace's clasp back around her neck, and the door to the basement was open. "It was the getting into high school that I had to do something about." She slipped the key in the necklace under her shirt; and he found himself anxious about what he could possibly find downstairs that she had to keep under lock.

Just because the presentable part of the house seemed normal, it did not mean that her basement remained void of any witchcraft. "What did you do?" He wondered out loud, taking a step closer once she motioned with her head toward the darkness of the basement stairs.

Yet another wave of gilt floated from her being, but this time, her heart remained steady. "I had to compel the principal into thinking I was a teenager." She admitted with a straight expression. "I look it already, so it wasn't too hard," She shrugged. "It was the making him think he'd talked to my parents that took the most effort to do."

Hearing a small meow, and the slightest noise that resembled the pitter patter of paws against wood well before normal ears could, Isaac's brows furrowed, and he turned on the first step of the basement stairs, craning around the girl to look at the animal that was approaching them: a tiny pitch black ball of fur with blue orbs as bright as Brittany's; _Really? _He thought. _A black cat? _He had to fight the urge to snort as he stooped low enough to run the very tips of his fingers down its back, gently, before righting his stance and turning around to attempt stepping down the stairs once again. _Guess the media didn't get _everything _wrong. _"Go on, Kit Kat." Brittany urged behind him, followed by a short little meow and a jingle of a bell. _Kit Kat? _He thought, looking back at the girl, who'd lowered her frame and seemed to be encouraging the kitten away. "Go on, princess, you can't go downstairs, you know that." Another meow. He looked away, continuing his short journey downstairs. _What kind of name is Kit Kat for a cat?_ Steps fell on the wood behind him, followed by another fading meow and the click of the closing door.

And even with the thought of the stereotypical black kitten, he continued to ponder the words she had spoken before, unable to reply to them. He guessed that was where her mind reading thing came in handy; words didn't always come so easily to him; in fact, Scott always had smell to know how he was feeling. The new girl had her powers, that seemed to be good enough for him; so, just below the bottom step, his mind attempted to imagine up what 'compelling' could entail, and waited for further information from the girl behind him.

She had followed along, a stoic expression stoning across her features as her steps echoed against the wood of the stairs. She'd been about to let him know he should consider himself lucky for being so easily liked by her kitten, but she had to remind herself that, as much as it seemed so, Isaac wasn't in her home as a social visit. He was there for answers, and that's exactly what she was going to give him. "It's a spell." She started in reply to his mental inquiry, flicking the light switch that quickly illuminated the extent of the basement with a lot of light that made the place look more like a museum than a basement. "More really like mind control; all I did was create memories of our principal talking to two English adults and placed them inside his mind." As she spoke, she moved inside the place, fingers gracing against a few closed boxes, each marked with a strange word of some sort, like she was looking for something. Yet, around her, the walls of the space were adorned by paintings, objects, artefacts that seemed ancient and others that seemed only a few decades old.

Isaac's eyes seemed curious as they landed on each thing, truly feeling as if he stood in the middle of a display in a museum, and all he had to do was step too close to the objects and be told off by a security guard; or, in this case, an upset witch. Behind the objects the walls were a light shade of gray; and every light, every shade and table, seemed like it belonged in a museum, or... rather as if she had attempted to make it look like a museum herself. "Come here." She called him, and when he turned to look at her she was standing in front of the biggest painting in the room; nearly from floor to ceiling, looking familiar to the wolf solely for his History text books. So he walked, approaching the girl and the painting with questioning eyes that danced from the art, to her blue eyes once and again. "Look at it." She encouraged, nodding her head toward the giant painting as her hands clasped low in front of her; her eyes set on Isaac as if she were watching for any and every reaction he could dare show. When he looked away from her toward the painting, she asked: "What do you see?"

Furrowing his brows, Isaac's scanned the full extent of the painting before him, dilated pupils allowing heightened wolf senses to see in the dimmer light, brushing over every detail, every colour, every change of direction of the strokes upon the art. It was a painting of a robust man holding a young woman dressed in white close to him, his clothes were gold and orange, he reached for a golden cup offered in a platter by a kneeling man; studies or not, the boy recognised the man as Henry Tudor. But the painting remained familiar; they were studying the Tudor era in History, and Isaac recognised the woman in white as one of Henry's wives solely for the familiarity of it. He wasn't one to like learning history much, so if it was familiar to him, then it meant he'd been forced to try to learn it at some point in school.

Brittany moved beside him for a short moment, reminding him she had asked a question; so his eyes flicked from the painting to the girl once again as his throat cleared. "It's an old painting of Henry VIII." He said rather obviously. "Talking to one of his wives, I think. Anne something? I can't remember her name." He shrugged. "Why?"

She nodded, allowing a sigh to escape her lips. "Anne Boleyn." She said the name with sadness, with respect; as if she were talking about someone she loved that she had lost. Isaac immediately frowned, his eyes focusing on her once again. "Look closer." She encouraged, then. Stepping inches away from him with a short flick of her eyes. "Look at the people around them."

So he did; he took a breath and stepped back a few inches, to be able to see the whole picture, the way his father had once taught him; one of the only few good things that had come out of his parenting. He studied the details more closely, the people around and behind Anne and Henry; two women, four men, including the one kneeling before the king. One man looked at the King and Anne, another spoke to a girl sat behind the main two subjects of the art; on a hallway behind, the other woman, with her back toward the artist, spoke to another man. Isaac looked at all of them closely, all the details on their surroundings, their dresses, the men's clothes, all velvety, all cared for. All their faces, he concentrated on what their hands were occupied with, their eyes, the women's hair partly covered by fabric.

And then Isaac saw it.

He moved closer; allowing his eyes to focus on the young lady that sat behind the King and Anne talking to a man that stood with a confident and even joking stance; her face was poised and serious as she looked up at the young man, her posture straight, her gown green and yellow under the light that illuminated the art. But it was her features that made a breath catch in between his throat; soft, thin, even in a painting her eyes looked blue, bright and flirty as he had seen them in front of him in mindless conversations; and he wanted to bet that if she removed her head hood from her hair, it would fall curly and black against her shoulders. Even painted, even with many inaccurate details that made him think he was imagining things, he could see it, and it made his eyes shift from Brittany to the painted girl; not at all the main point of the art, whatsoever, but she was there. Could she be? It wasn't possible, it couldn't be. "Yes, Isaac." Brittany finally said, flicking her eyes from the frame toward he boy once again. "You're not imagining things, that, right behind Lady Anne and his Majesty." She nodded. "That's me."

**To Be Continued.**


	19. Chapter 19: History Lesson

"So you're, what? Five hundred years old?" Isaac asked, his eyes dropping away from the painting to study Brittany's blues; he was aware of her steady heart, he was aware of the calm demeanour with which she observed him.

And he became even more wary when her head started shaking. "I'm a thousand, one hundred and twenty six years old." She said it slowly, almost as if she were speaking to a child, yet without that demeaning tone, a simple fact spilled through pressed lips before her hands lifted in some sort of personal hug.

Isaac's eyes returned to the painting, studying the image he had recognised before shaking his head and almost immediately walking away in attempts to observe some of the other paintings. "That's not possible." He told her, stopping before a smaller painting of a young woman with a gentle and piercing blue gaze and a dark shade of hair hidden by the materials of her head piece; the painting looked older, the girl's clothes alone looked more like the kind he expected to see in a fairy tale like Sleeping Beauty; folds within folds on her sleeves, rich colours, a tranquil looking white cat in her hands, and the features in her face, just like the ones before, though different and distinguished by the strokes of a different brush and material, they were a near perfect mirror of Brittany's. "You look exactly my age." Isaac said in more of a whisper than an accusation.

She'd followed his actions with her eyes, but only at his last words did she allow her frame to turn around and walk toward the boy. "That one was painted much earlier." She informed him, exhaling a soft breath without her arms dropping, instead pressing slightly as if to support herself. "I was staying with a rich family; they could never have children, and they found me and thought it a blessing in disguise." She nodded. "It was Germany, 1312."

Isaac was frowning, his eyes suddenly moving away from that painting toward the other canvases and frames along the walls, the other artefacts. "So you're telling me that everything in this room has something to do with you?" There were at least eight more paintings, a stone tablet, signed and framed documents, and then there were those boxes with the words in a language he simply didn't understand. He looked back at her after the silence, surprised to see her moving toward one of the boxes on a pile. "Brittany?"

Her eyes lifted, blinking for a beat before her head bobbed in a nod. "Every single one of these boxes, every painting, every document, they all hold a piece of my life." She announced, taking the box she'd approached and leading it toward one of the three tables in the middle of the room; Isaac's eyes fell to her hands without truly moving from his place. "That stone at the end?" She said, motioning toward the tablet Isaac had seen; the very same one he turned around to glance at from where he stood. "It's the beginning of it all. My mother carved my name in it before I was born; along with the words she thought were going to describe my character." She told him, moving her hands to open the box without taking her eyes off of him mostly due to the fact that his feet were leading him in the direction she had motioned. "It was a custom in my village." She confessed with a young smile displaying across her lips; one brought there from a rush as if a memory ran inside her mind behind the look she gave him; a look that softly lowered to look at her own hands, which had picked up a black and white picture of her in a light dress standing beside a taller and older woman wearing a darker attire. "Pregnant women carved the name of the child they thought they were carrying, on a stone tablet." She continued. "Just one name, along with what traits they thought the child would have." Her eyes lifted in his direction again. "If the child was of the gender the women predicted, then, upon their first Name Day, it was gifted with the tablet their mother had carved." Isaac's eyes studied her in a curious and only half disbelieving manner. "If it wasn't, the tablet was destroyed, and with its ashes and some metal, the child's first weapon was made, also to be given to them on their first Name Day."

Even if he'd tried to, Isaac wouldn't have been able to hold back the scoffed breath that escaped his parted lips. "You gave weapons to kids on their first birthday?" His arms were crossed against his chest, and the tone in which he spoke did not miss judgement.

In fact, Brittany's eyes shadowed with the smallest shades of offence upon his utterance because of it, and her next words escaped in a slightly defensive note. "It was an honour to receive your first weapon." She told him, setting the picture she had been holding on the table beside the box. Was that nostalgia Isaac heard in her voice? "Times were different. Most children were taught how to defend themselves by the time they could talk." She paused. "At least, that's how it was in my village."

With a short shake of his head, Isaac's eyes moved to the stone before him. Some of the carvings seemed strange; some of them looked a bit like the letters in the things written in the boxes like the one she had taken. Others were unrecognisable, he guessed, due to the many years it spent out in the real world. But _how _long, exactly? What year was this all from? She had said she was more than a thousand years old, but... it was taking him quite a bit to do the math to know an exact date. "I was born on the tenth moon of the second month of Autumn in 888." She answered, making his eyes fall away from the stone in her direction as a quick and logical calculation of numbers brought upon the right date: October the tenth, 888. He didn't even realise his eyes had narrowed until the retaliation of such a motion was a short roll of her eyes before they fell to look at the objects she pulled from the box. "I know how it sounds," She admitted. "But I also know that you can tell if I'm lying. So go ahead, listen to my heart intently during this whole conversation, I have no reason to lie to you; I want to help you."

"Yeah, you keep saying that." He said disbelievingly, moving away from the tablet without dropping his arms, his eyes falling on a few of the other paintings as he walked in her direction. "But I still don't understand how any of this is possible." He admitted, finally standing opposite Brittany along the table and looking down at the things she had set down; among them some black and white pictures, newspaper articles, and a set of keys. "You're immortal just because you're a witch?"

Almost immediately Brittany shook her head. "It's a potion." She looked up at him, setting her hands still on the cardboard of the box. "I discovered a book of dark magic many years after my father's death, and in it I found the potion for eternal life." She confessed, her head shaking before a shoulder shrugged. "I didn't know if it would work; the texts were centuries older than me at the time, and it said that only those of certain abilities could achieve the potion's purpose." Her gaze fell once again, and her hands resumed their previous actions. "It said the subject would die upon consumption if the brewer's power was not strong enough; but I turned out to be strong enough to survive it." She paused. "I was nineteen at the time." _And that's why you look like a teenager. _Isaac thought, not at all surprised to see her nod at the unspoken realisation.

So there had been clear consequences to this potion of hers, lethal consequences, yet she had still taken the risks; she had told him she hadn't known if it would work, meaning that she most likely believed there to be a 90/10 possibility that it wouldn't. If Isaac decided to attempt reading a little more into that, then he suddenly seemed to have learnt something unspoken about her; had she hoped the potion didn't work? Had she hoped for the death that her book had warned about? His eyes lifted from the objects on the table to her face, eyes lowered, concentrated on her hands' actions as they held onto the now empty box to lead it back toward the pile she'd taken it from; and if she had heard his thoughts the way she seemed to have been doing from the moment they met, then she had decided to not gift him with an answer to such a seemingly personal inquiry. With a fall of his gaze towards the objects on the table in front of him, Isaac took her silence as an unwilling confirmation for himself; he had learnt something new about her indeed. He decided to study the things in the table; the black and white pictures, the written documents, the newspaper articles. Clearly, what she had left in that table was much newer than her stone tablet, or the painting she had first shown him; if he had been doubting her before, seeing the girl that slowly returned to stand across from him, dressed in long dark and light dresses without a grin across her face on those pictures, made most of his doubts dissipate like smoke. Because there she was, in the front page cut out of a newspaper dated April 14th 1843, dressed in dark clothes and porting as poised an expression as the one in the first painting; it was her, that much was clear. It was a _picture_, a photograph taken instead of an artist's attempt at mimicking the subject's image; and it _was_ Brittany. Only... "Wait a minute, this sais Annabelle Wright." Isaac said after reading a little bit of the cut out article, pointing at the page he was studying while his blue gaze lifted to look at Brittany's stance; crossed arms, frown in the middle of her forehead, observing him as if she were the very security guard he had thought would stop him when he first arrived to the basement. "This says 'achieved by Annabelle Wright, shown above.', but that's supposedly a picture of you. Who's Annabelle Wright?" And just like that, Isaac's doubts returned; what if Brittany had simply found records of people who looked like her, what if—

"It's me." She said, rolling her eyes and tilting her head in a short motion with a sigh escaping from her parted lips. "_I'm_ Annabelle Wright." She finally looked at him again, genuinely surprised to find the same disbelieving grimace across his features even after her confession; all she could do was scoff an equally disbelieving breath. "Bloody hell, tall guy, you can't tell me you actually expected me to have the same name all my life." She tested, her head shaking candidly for a short moment before she spoke again. "One, I was born in 888, the name Brittany is not _that_ old. Second, even with as little technology as there was before, and much more with the kind there is now, if I always used the same name it wouldn't take too long for some curious bloke somewhere to figure out that there was someone out there that wasn't dying. _Or _aging, don't you think?" Isaac's brows had risen, his stance becoming nearly defensive in attempt to hide his own doubt and embarrassment over the seemingly logic reality. "Why else do you think I have all of this under lock?" She continued. "Call me paranoid if you wish, but I always tried burning as many possible documents or records about me everywhere I went; and even then, I wasn't able to burn or erase all of it, I'm sure if someone knew all the names I've used and researched them well they would _find _something." She seemed shocked, or annoyed, or frustrated over the whole thing; and she was, she was wasting time, or she felt as if she were, trying to convince this boy she wasn't lying. "But even _I_ couldn't just _erase _myself from existence, could I?" She flailed, lifting her arms and dropping them until they slapped against the sides of her thighs. "It's the only reason I kept any of this." Brittany confessed. "To remind myself of everything I've lived, everything I've done. Everything I've been though for more than a thousand years."

It made sense, but still, it was... weird. "So Brittany O'Brien isn't your real name?" Isaac wondered, frowning shortly and looking down at the other pictures on the table for a flicker of a moment before he looked up at her once again; she was shaking her head, and the wolf had to stop himself from scoffing, because he could vaguely remember a passing thought from the day they met _Maybe it's a pen name. _"What's your real name, then?"

Instead of him, Brittany was the one to scoff a breath. "I'm not going to tell you that." She simply responded, halfway smiling crookedly, as if she was actually surprised he had even asked. It reminded him of just how goddamn snarky she turned out to be.

It's all it took for him to shake his head with a little smirk adorning his lips. "Alright, say all of this is true." He allowed, dropping his arms after a motion around the room. "You said before that because of the many things you've seen in your time alive you know what's going on here." She nodded, the smile across her lips dissipating and an actual short breath of relief and awareness puffing from her nose. "How do you know?"

She took a breath before gulping. "The vision I told you about." She started, flicking her head to the side in order to push away the curly locks of hair that had fallen on her face. "When I fell in front of that poor girl I automatically connected to the elements, and I saw, through the girl's blood on the leaves, the moment she had been placed on that tree and by whom." Isaac was listening, his forehead was invaded with a deep attentive frown, and his blue eyes studied her along with every single one of his senses to catch upon any sign that she might be lying. There was none. "It wasn't a woman, like you and Allison think. It was a man, a boy." She informed. "But it's not the boy you should be worrying about, it's what's inside of him."

Isaac's frown deepened. "What do you mean what's inside of him?" He prompted, wishing he possessed her gifts of reading minds so he could simply get all the information he needed and managed to get all of it to Scott. "Who is it?"

"I don't know." Her tone was apologetic, maybe even a little frustrated at her own lack of an answer. "I couldn't see it properly in the vision; I could see his body, his clothes, his hair, even, but the moment he turned around his features were twisted and dark, inhuman and lacking of any recognisable traits." She paused. "Not that I know many people in this town, of course. But I _did _recognise the image of its face, the _thing_ that I am quite sure is behind everything that has been going on in this town."

If Isaac didn't get any closer to Brittany with the need of knowing more and more, it was because the table rested between them; but his eyes did become urgent, curious and anxious at the manner in which some part of him seemed to have decided to completely believe her. "Well, what is 'it', then?"

"A demon." She paused, her blue orbs dancing upon his own. "This town has been targeted by a demon."

**To Be Continued**


	20. Chapter 20: New Ally

There was a moment in which Isaac Lahey would have laughed had that day been different, because somehow it was easier for him to believe that there was a demon killing people in town and making it look like either suicides or old horrors, than it had been to believe the other words Brittany O'Brien had told him about her nature and her age. "A demon." He echoed, nodding his head and frowning, because it wasn't funny, not now, not when the pack's human had been missing for so long, not when a friend of theirs had been victim to this thing, not when it all looked like Jennifer Blake was back. "A demon is behind everything that has been happening?" He asked, watching Brittany nod her head with the attention she had been giving him, every hint of her past or whatever nostalgia or pain it brought her was gone from her features, and instead of it all that was left was awareness. "And you say you can help." She nodded again, and it made his eyes narrow a bit and his stance only partly harden. "How?"

She let out a breath. "I dealt with something like this twice before." She informed him, resting her hand rather longingly on the same picture she had glanced at moments before; the one with the older and taller woman standing beside her in a darker attire than hers. "We would need to find the possessed, and—" But before she could continue, the ringing tooting of Isaac's phone echoed from his pocket, interrupting them both completely and making the boy drop his arms to reach for the electronic that called for his attention.

The picture and name on the screen said that it was Scott. "I should take this." Isaac told Brittany, glancing at her only for a moment to see her nod before turning around and walking only a few steps away from her, stopping before one of the paintings he had not paid much attention to as he swiped his finger to the right in order to answer. "Scott?"

Almost immediately after he spoke, he heard the echo of a car's door closing from the other end of the line. "Isaac, they found another body." His alpha said, making the painting in front of the boy –of the girl behind him sitting on a red cushiony saddle seat in front of a window, wearing a black and green thin looking dress with a ribbon around her waist, maybe the 1700's– completely become unimportant as his eyes fell to the ground under him and his frame turned slightly. A sense of dread overwhelmed him as the image of the murdered girl against that tree filled his mind. "We need all the help we can get, we're going to look around, see if we can find anything." Scott continued.

At such a mention, Isaac's eyes lifted in the direction of Brittany, who had taken the box back to the table and was placing everything inside it once again. "Where?" He simply asked, his gaze locking with Brittany's the moment her own lifted in his direction. But it didn't last long; only a couple of beats later, she looked back down toward the box where she was placing the last two items from the table, and after a somewhat calm tell from Scott of an address, Isaac nodded. "Alright, I'm on my way." He reassured his alpha and hung up the phone; not even taking much longer than a beat to allow his feet to lead him forward until he was only steps away from Brittany and her turning frame to place the now closed box back on the pile. "You're coming with me." He simply told her; no question about it.

He wasn't at all surprised when a scoffed breath and a halfway amused grin were revealed the moment she turned around to face him once again. "I am?" Her arms lifted to cross under her chest.

Isaac simply nodded. "Yes, you are." As he placed his phone back inside his pocket, her started walking backwards in the direction of the stairs. "They found another body, and we need all the help we can get." He repeated as Scott had told him, almost glad to see her expression fall with the weight of his words; slowly, her arms fell too. "Plus, Scott needs to know everything you've told me." He continued, turning around the moment he stood right in front of the stairs. "Skip the History lesson, though, it's this demon thing we're all going to be more worried about."

It came out harshly, and he knew it, but he didn't have the will to apologise or speak anything else to express his acknowledgement over his poorly chosen words; instead, he simply made his way upstairs, finding himself genuinely glad the moment the echo of Brittany's small steps tooted in following behind him.

-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-

The engine of the BMW whispered to a stop, and the lights that had illuminated the group shut down only seconds before the two front doors opened; Allison, Scott and Derek all glanced at each other with the same unspoken question tooting inside their minds. A question that was only after answered when Isaac and the new girl started walking in their direction. "Brittany?" Allison asked, looking from her to Isaac with a questioning glance that she later shifted in Scott's direction. The alpha sighed; they didn't have the time to explain anything to the new girl if she ended up asking questions.

A few steps away from the car, Isaac moved to stand in front of the blue eyed girl, placing his hands gently on her arms before speaking. "Stay here." He told her with a soft look and the image of his own expected explanation to the pack wavering inside his mind for her to see; something that befell a sigh and nod from her head, lifting her arms to rest one over the other around her frame once he let go prior to turning around to hide his hands inside his jacket's pockets and walked in the direction of the group with the smallest of frowns across his forehead. "Hey, where's the body?" He asked, stopping upon the little opening the group had made for him; an opening which, with him there, a circle was formed.

"They picked it up already." Derek Hale responded, his frown much more prominent than Isaac's as he glanced over his former beta's shoulder. "Who is she?" He asked, returning his gaze to the wolf in expectation of an answer.

The answer came instead from his right. "It's Brittany O'Brien." Allison replied, a frown also furrowing her brow the way everyone else in the little group seemed to. "The new girl." Her eyes stopped in each of the boys' faces before a breath escaped in a puff from her lips. "Isaac, why did you—"

"She's a witch." Isaac interrupted her in a lower tone, turning back to look at them after a short glance behind him at Brittany, who was hugging herself against the night's cold, and nearly inviting everyone in the group to speak in as low a tone when he continued. "Scott had me keep an eye on her for the past week or so, and it seems I'm not as good at being discrete as I thought I was, because she found out." His arms lifted to cross against his chest, looking in between each of his friends for a few moments. "Or maybe discretion has nothing to do with it; she can read minds." It was in his next pause that he finally realised what, or _who _apart from Stiles was missing in the little group. "Where's Lydia?"

He wasn't at all surprised to see everyone's features mirror surprise. Specially Allison's; hadn't they had a conversation about witches before? "She said she was on her way; we didn't even need to tell her what had happened." Scott replied before shaking his head somewhat frantically as if to shake an idea out of his head before he spoke again in the same low tone Isaac had used. "What do you mean 'she can read minds'?"

Isaac nodded. "I mean she can read minds." He repeated. "She's a witch; a very old one at that, but that doesn't matter." He told them. "She says she can help us." At this, everyone frowned once again.

"How?" Allison wondered, her hands tightening onto concerned fists at her sides.

To this, all Isaac could do was frown and shake his head. "I don't know yet." He admitted shortly with a shrug. "She was about to tell me that when you called, so I thought bringing her would be best."

They all nodded, but before Scott or Allison could say anything else, Derek spoke. "Do you trust her?" He asked, mirroring his own stance by crossing his arms against his chest.

Isaac scoffed a breath. "I wouldn't go that far." He responded with a genuine shake of his head. "But she did show me quite enough to believe what she's saying." He nodded, lifting his shoulders in a shrug and releasing a sigh. "I thought It would be a good idea to let her at least tell us how she thinks she can help."

"So you don't think she's the one to blame for all of this?" Scott asked, his eyes studying Isaac intently for any signs of nervousness, or anything other than the usual hidden shyness; there seemed to be nothing.

For a moment all Isaac could do was look back at Brittany with a curious gaze; she'd walked back and now rested against the hood of her car; eyes closed, arms wrapped around her frame. Did Isaac think she was to blame for everything? He had, at first, he remembered; but did he now? She had showed him her abilities in a way he had not expected, she had told him about her past in hopes of explaining and getting him to believe what she told him; and he couldn't help but wonder if she would have done as such if she was the one to have murdered all those people. "No." He simply said with finality, shaking his head and looking at his friends once again. "No, I don't think it was her." He repeated. "Actually..." He frowned, gulping a short unexplained knot in the middle of his throat before speaking. "...she seems to vaguely know what _it_ is." He informed them. "And if she's right, then at least we can rest easy that Jennifer is as dead as we think she is."

At least that seemed to relax the group some. "Brittany!" Allison called, and with that sound everyone looked in the direction of the curly haired girl, whose eyes lifted toward them without her arms lowering; after a short summoning from Allison's lifted hand, Brittany pushed herself away from her BMW and dropped her hands to her sides while making her way toward the group. She stood in between Isaac and Allison when she arrived there.

"So you say you can help?" Derek asked her only seconds after she'd stopped walking; and everyone was surprised by the scoffed breath that escaped her lips. One that only made the older man's brows raise in short unamused shock. "Something funny?"

Brittany shook her head. "No, sorry." She took a breath, exhaling it slowly before gulping and frowning. "It's just that Isaac has asked me the same question twice." She said, attempting a forced smile to shine across her lips before simply nodding, finally, in response. "But to answer your question, yes, I do; I think I can help." She nodded once again.

"How?" Allison asked again at the exact same that Scott did; they were all frowning, eyes on the new girl as if she were about to reveal the cure for cancer: hopeful, yet sceptic. "Isaac said you're a witch?"

To this, Brittany nodded. "I had a vision." She repeated for what felt like the millionth time. Everyone listened as she spoke, as she told them everything, every detail, the blood, the lifeless body being left there by the boy with the horrible twisted features, the sense of dread, the fear. "...and I genuinely believe that if I were to touch the new crime scene, even with the lack of a body..." She frowned, her own hold tightening upon her arms with a sense of dread that had nothing to do with the past vision. "...I would most likely be able to see more." She looked at everyone, their eyes focused on her, the wolves' every sense paying attention to her heart, to her emotions, to her every scent for a sense of a lie, and though suddenly Brittany felt as if she started understanding how people whose minds she read felt when she confessed to her intrusion, she welcomed it; because at least all the motion of doubt would go away with every truthful word she spoke. "I wasn't expecting it before." She simply continued after a minute pause. "But this time I _would _be, and not only that, this time I would be able to look further, to maybe even find this missing friend of yours if he is anywhere close to this thing."

Scott wouldn't have been able to hide his hope even if he'd tried it; because he'd listened to her heart drum steadily throughout her whole explanation, watched her bright blue eyes focus on each one of them with a dense air of security and truthfulness while she spoke, but—"Look, I can tell that you're not lying." Derek interrupted Scott's thoughts, making every single eye turn to him; and at least, if anything, Scott was able to hear Allison's heart relaxing at the confirmation from Derek. "But what I don't understand is why you want to help us." He admitted, strangely speaking Scott's own wondrous thoughts, because as much as he was used to seeing the best in people, with time, he had started to learn to wonder what some were after. "What's in it for you?"

Brittany scoffed a breath once again, and she had to do everything in her power to not speak upon the snark that suddenly rested on the edge of her tongue; instead, she took a breath, a short one at that, and focused her eyes straight on Derek's. "Listen to my heart while I'm talking, because this whole doubting me thing is getting bloody old." She told him, lifting her arms to rest crossed under her chest. "I don't blame you for doubting me, I probably would too if I were in your shoes. In fact, It's probably smart of you, but I'm only going to answer this question once, because I reckon offering my help would be considered enough." She paused, standing a little straighter. "I am _not _your enemy. I never will be, alright? I have no hidden agenda, no secret plan of any sort. I live in this bloody town now, all I want is to be able to sleep soundly and without worrying that some poor sod will be killed while I dream. I have _this _power inside me that for most of my life has been nothing but a curse; but I learnt a long time ago that I don't _have _to be a monster just because I was born one. So if I can help, you're bloody well right I'm going to try to." She was frowning, and they couldn't exactly see it, but her hands had balled up in fists against the fabric of her leather jacket. "Now, I can do this on my own." She continued. "As I've told Tall Guy here, I've dealt with something like this at least twice in my life. But as I learnt from his mind, your diverse pack is always trying to save the day." Those words were directed exactly at Scott, whose frown had dissipated by then. "And I simply don't see the point on trying to help separately if we're all literally trying to achieve the same thing."

Everyone was quiet for a moment, but then Scott actually nodded, not at all surprising everyone around him. "That's good enough for me." He said, offering his hand to the new girl, who flicked a look from his eyes to his hand before a small smile crossed her lips and her own hands fell until she was able to shake his. "So what do we do?" He asked, letting her hand go and feeling a new sense of usefulness floating along his insides in a way it hadn't from the moment his friend had gone missing.

"I need to see the new crime scene." She told him, them, looking around at the group before her arms dropped. And with a simple nod of his head Scott, his pack, and the new girl, set off in the direction of the latest scene of the crime with a new air of hope surrounding every one of the friends.

-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-

She had known; oh, she _had _known. All Lydia Martin had wanted was to sit down to watch a movie that would distract her from the absolute feeling of uselessness she had been drowning in since the fifth day she hadn't been able to help find her boyfriend; that was a lie, all she wanted was to find him, but she couldn't. No matter how hard she tried all of the voices in her head, however quiet or loud, didn't help her one bit; and when that unstoppable awareness had taken over her and a wail escaped from her lips, it hadn't at all been for Stiles. It had been for a girl she had never met in her life. So when Scott McCall had called her to tell her about the newly found body behind the fields of the Sheriff Station, the banshee was not at all surprised; in fact, she had already gotten in her car by a sense of will she didn't notice until her hands had wrapped around the wheel. A sense of will that she continued feeling and mindlessly listening to long after she hung up; she was on her way to them, driving, pressing the brakes, the speed as automatically as she could, because her mind was elsewhere.

She listened to the dry instructions from the GPS on her dashboard, moving the wheel to the left, to the right as from the instructions it muttered, but feeling her mind drowning upon the worry about the amber eyed boy she had seemed to grow so attached to. She attempted to listen to something, pay attention to whatever it was that made her a banshee in hopes to catch something, _anything_, that could possibly lead her in the direction of that who the whole pack had been searching for this entire time. "Turn right in two miles_._" She breathed, feeling her jaw starting to hurt due to the intensity with which her teeth seemed to be grinding; it nearly made her wish she'd brought her purse so she could busy her mouth by chewing gum. She did as the GPS had instructed. If only she knew how to control whatever it is she had, then maybe somehow she could—"Turn right in four miles." Her fingers drummed against the wheel in frustration; a strange little habit she had picked from her boyfriend's many times stuck in traffic in his Jeep on their way to the mall. _If only, if only_... "Turn right in two—"

Her phone started ringing.

It made her jump shortly, having been so deep into her own mind; but of course her eyes fell to her phone on the dashboard. On the caller ID Scott's smiley face shone at her; and Lydia would have reached for it and answered, but there was another object her eyes fell upon that made her once steady heart start beating with a worrying speed: her GPS. It was turned off.

Almost frantically her eyes lifted in attempts to look around her; where was she? How had she been following a GPS that wasn't even functioning? Why had she even listened to it? She knew exactly where the Sheriff's station was, she didn't need directions. She felt like there was a sudden unmovable knot in the middle of her throat that beat along the rhythm of her heart, which she could easily hear right against her ears; she was panicking. Wherever it is she had ended up, Lydia needed to stop, she needed to figure out where she was, how she'd gotten there, or more importantly _why _she had gotten there; so without allowing herself to think about it any much longer, she twisted the wheel until it frantically led her into the empty parking lot of a closed mall.

And not even seconds later, she had to kick on the brakes; because if she hadn't, she would have hurt him, she would have surely ran over him and hit him and most likely killed him due to the speed in which she had been driving, and it made her heart beat even harder. The lights illuminated him, his dishevelled clothes, his messy hair, his bandaged arm that shone with the shade of dried blood, the paleness of his skin. "Lydia." He mouthed, his tired eyes focusing on her for a couple of moments before he suddenly collapsed down to the floor. It was all it took for the strawberry blonde to get out of her car in attempts to help the boy she had almost ran over.

It was Stiles.

**To Be Continued.**


	21. Chapter 21: Fake Security

"I still think I should take you to the hospital." Lydia told him, her eyes focused on the red line with broken stitches that she had had to unbandage; Stiles shortly winced the moment the cotton pad with alcohol touched against his wound so suddenly, making the strawberry blonde frown even deeper as her eyes studied the boy from head to toe while he rested on her bed. "Or at least to your dad." She continued, holding his arm steady so she didn't hurt him any more than he already seemed to be; not at all surprised when Stiles' head started shaking in instant response to what she had offered.

Of course he had said no; from the moment Lydia helped him up from the parking lot's floor and that relieved gaze and breath of air escaped him, he had been telling her once and time again that he didn't want anyone but Scott to know that he was back. It had made no sense at first, and even while she drove him to the only other place she could think of (her home), she considered ignoring his pleas in order to do what was best for him. But then she had told him to explain, that she would care for him, but if she was going to ignore her common sense, which nearly begged her to take him away to get treated in a hospital, then she needed a good reason for it. "She's going to have all of her attention over here, Lydia." Stiles reminded her for the third time, once again attempting his original argument to stop her from any public announcements. "If she finds me—"

"She's not going to find you." Lydia repeated, reaching inside the little first aid box for patches and a bandage. "I'm just saying that I'm sure I could bring your father in here without anyone finding out." She told him, keeping along that frown that seemed to be nearly permanent from the moment they had headed inside her empty home; one of the many times she thanked her mother's young-at-heart mentality for being away, because at least, like that, she could continue with her boyfriend's confidence request much easier than she would be otherwise. "He's a mess, Stiles."

The boy frowned and pressed his head deeper into the pillow when another pang of pain cursed through his arm when she continued to clean the wound. "I'm aware of that, Lydia. I didn't ask for a nutjob druid-gone-bad to come back from the dead and kidnap me, but she did it anyway." His tone escaped frustrated, angry, even, and, had the circumstances been any different, Lydia would have worried upon his loud tone; but could she possibly blame him for being angry? For being so frustrated, when every single member of the pack, plus the Sheriff, were just as frustrated at their lacking ability to find him in the first place? No; the answer was no.

She sighed after that self-conscious realisation. _This is all a lie. _"What?" She asked, looking up at Stiles' closed eyes for a moment, stopping upon her movements of pressing the gauze onto his arm to frown a little deeper, her eyes searching his features for what felt like the millionth time for any possible sign that his lips had been the ones to release such words into the air. His eyes opened to look in her direction, shadowed only by the frown that also adorned his features.

"What?" He echoed, his own eyes dancing upon hers as if he were to find any and every answer in one of the many shades of her greens. And a look that the strawberry blonde had seen many times before crossed his visage with a gentle concern that relaxed her upon recognition and nearly completely pushed away the sudden concern over the words she had heard. "Lydia, are you okay?"

There it was; the Stiles she knew and was used to. It was the third time that night that she had heard a raspy unwanted version of his voice whispering into her ear, and it worried her, but the look that crossed his eyes, the gentleness with which he used his undamaged hand to rest it atop hers, the way he started attempting to get up from the bed even if she'd asked him not to, they were all things that reassured her enough to blame the worry she had been drowning in for the past weeks for the things she suddenly heard. She had to sigh, to shake her head shortly with a forced upon grin while her eyes fell back onto her hands to resume the task of bandaging his arm. "You're the one that just came back from being kidnapped." She told him, making sure to not tighten the bandage too much so she wouldn't cut off the arm's circulation. "I'm just a little worried about you." She patted his newly bandaged hand once she finished, lifting her eyes to look into his own.

And before he knew it, he had propped himself on an elbow and used his good hand to rest it at the back of her neck so he could gently pull her close until his lips had crashed against her own; it was a kiss she easily returned, because there had been a moment in the last three days in which she truly started believing she was never going to see the boy again, and that kiss, it felt like a stolen luxury she never thought herself possible to welcome again. _Lydiaaaaaaaaa!_ It made her hands ball against his dishevelled shirt, and remain there even after the shock of such a call inside her head shook her internally. "I'm going to be okay." He reassured her, brushing the pad of his thumb against the soft skin of her cheek and frowning in mirror to her own expression. "I will go to my Dad soon, there's nothing I want more." He admitted. "But I want to talk to Scott before I can do anything to put anyone else in danger."

It was a logical explanation, and it nearly became enough for Lydia; it probably would have if it wasn't for the repeated calls inside her head, the headache that slowly formed, the strangeness of his touch as it fell away from her. "How did you escape, anyway?" She asked him, sitting upright to place the first aid box items in order so she could easily discard of the used ones, and wishing upon her own sanity to blame the unspoken calls to her concern over the boy who had somewhat exhaustedly fallen against the bed once again. "You didn't tell me."

The boy's lips lifted in a rather sardonic smile. "Well, she may be a psycho dark druid, but she's still just human." He admitted before a breathed snort escaped him to accompany the shake of his head. "If that even makes any sense."

"It doesn't." Lydia admitted, lifting her gaze in the amber eyed boy's direction once again. "But still, I know what you mean." She nodded. "What happened?" Her hands continued moving, closing the box's lid and making sure the bandages were rightfully placed against his skin.

The boy sighed, _It's a lie!_ relaxing against the cushiony surface of the bed, his eyes closing once again for a few moments before he even allowed himself to speak. "What I could." He confided, opening his eyes again and attempting to sit, only to be pushed back down by Lydia's touch. He rolled his eyes, but then started speaking again. "I hit her on the head with a piece of wood and ran for dear life." He shifted on the bed, to at least rest softly on his side. "I ran and ran, and then you found me."

Lydia's brows rose, both for his explanation and the repeated calling that did not dissipate from her mind, releasing a breathed puff of near disbelief that she was going to express much more about out loud until her phone started buzzing on the night table; on the caller ID, a smiley Scott McCall shone and announced his need to talk to her. "I'm going to make you something to eat." She informed, reaching for the phone with a little smile prior to forcing upon a strict look across her face. "Don't move." With a simple roll of his eyes to confirm her demands, Lydia stood from the bed, took the first aid kit with her, and left the room, swiping her finger to the right on the screen to answer the call. "Hi, Scott." She said with a rather cheery tone, a cheerfulness placed there rather easily with Stiles being in her bedroom, regardless of the concern over his well being and much more importantly, Jennifer's return.

A subject to which she was brought back to like a punch to the stomach with Scott's voice. "Lydia?" He asked, worry bleeding upon his tone while the wind sang against her ear from his end of the line. "Are you okay? Why didn't you answer the phone before? Where are you?" So many questions thrown so loosely in her direction made her frown as she headed downstairs after placing the first aid kit back in her mother's washroom.

How could she have been so careless? "Scott, I'm okay." She quickly told him. "I'm home, I'm sorry I didn't call before; you should have been my first call, and I'm sorry, I just—" She breathed. _Why_ hadn't she called? Stiles had told her he wanted to speak to Scott before anyone else, yet she hadn't called, and—

"Lydia?" Scott repeated, and she could hear the frown in his words; how dare she? Stiles had already been missing and suddenly she decided to go AWOL on them? "Are you sure you're okay?"

She placed the phone on speaker, reaching within cupboards for bread and jam and peanut butter. "I am! It's not me you should be worrying about, Scott, you should—"

"That's exactly what I wanted to talk to you about." Scott interrupted her, and she could hear car doors closing in the background. "We're leaving the site right now. We got the same scent we told you about from Stiles, and—"

The wolf had attempted to continue talking, but a rather tranquil Lydia attempted to interrupt him. "Scott, listen!" And finally the alpha quieted. Her hands moved in sync to open jars and place slices of bread on a white plate. "Stiles is okay. I found him." She said, looking at the phone as if she were looking right into her friend's eyes. "I don't know how, but I was on my way to you when I just..." She sighed. "I don't even know how to explain it. But he's okay, I was going to call you, but some of his stitches ripped open and I had to take care of it. He doesn't want to talk to anyone until he talks to you."

There was a nearly eerie silence from the other end of the line; one in which Lydia would have genuinely thought the call had cut if it weren't for the sound of the engine purring into her ear. "Stiles is with you?" Scott asked, but he didn't sound cheerful the way she had expected him to; he sounded wary.

It made Lydia frown. "Yes." She simply replied. "It's completely impossible, but he said that Jennifer had him, that he barely escaped her." She informed him, listening to the engine echoing louder from his end of the line. "I wanted to take him to a hospital, but he said he'd rather talk to you first instead of putting anyone in danger. And I should have called you, but—"

"Lydia, I need you to pretend that everything is okay." A female voice echoed from the other side, making Lydia frown even deeper as she reached for the phone on the counter. "Go to Stiles, and keep him there, we're on our way to you."

She pressed the speaker button again to turn it off. "Allison?" She asked, almost immediately forgetting about the sandwich in front of her. Why was Allison talking to her from Scott's phone? "What's going on?"

The static of breath against her ear only made Lydia's worry beat like a drum along with her heart against her ears. "You need to keep Stiles distracted, keep him there." Allison replied hasitly. "He can't leave your house, we're on our way."

"What are you talking about?" By now the frustration in the banshee's voice was more than evident as she gripped the phone even tighter, her eyes searching along the counter of her kitchen as if the answers to her questions were printed on the expensive material. "Will you please tell me what the hell is going on?" There was a creaking sound behind her.

"Lydia?" The familiar voice came from the direction of the soft noise.

She turned around. "It's not Stiles." Allison told her rather hurriedly in the phone. "Jennifer's not back, the boy with you is not Stiles, it's just his body." She paused, and the new information sunk within her frame like a heavy rock. "Lydia, Stiles is possessed by a demon."

The boy standing feet away from the strawberry blonde tsked his tongue shortly at the very same time that the phone in her hand flew away toward one of the walls in her kitchen, strangely in sync with a flick of his hand. "I imagined this going a whole lot differently." The boy said in a rough amused tone and the familiar gentle frustration from his features dissipated and shifted into a murderous and terrifyingly amused grimace; his amber eyes shone under the light of the kitchen with a gaze that made a chilling fear travel down her spine, because not only had his expression changed, but the sound of Stiles' voice calling to her in her mind got louder along with the other voices that haunted her. "But I guess we can't all always get what we want, can we?" And with a simple blink of his lids, the expression on his features became many times more terrifying, because the familiar and warm soft amber in his orbs drifted and disappeared behind an endless pitch black. "Plan B."

That's when Lydia Martin screamed.

**To Be Continued.**


	22. Chapter 22: Pieces Of The Puzzle

"Lydia!" Scott called, urging Allison to open the door with her spare key; when it opened, everyone barged in, Brittany more wary than the rest, observant, as they split along the rooms in attempts to find the strawberry blonde. "Lydia?!" He repeated, feeling an eerie sense of dread at the recognised putrid scent that adorned most of the house.

"Scott!" Came Allison's voice from another room. "I found her! In the kitchen!" And it was all that needed to be said before Isaac, Scott and Brittany all headed in the direction that was mentioned. The echoes of everyone's feet thudding against the ground were the only sounds in the house along with the singing wind outside. "She's still breathing, help me get her to the couch." Carefully, Scott and Allison lifted the girl from the ground in order to take her toward the living room and gently place her on the white material of her couch. "There's blood." The huntress whispered after pushing back the strawberry blonde locks from her best friend's forehead, revealing a splat of dried blood right at her hairline. "Isaac, get the first aid kit." She requested turning to look at the tall blue eyed boy. "It's in the washroom three rooms down the hallway at the left, upstairs."

The boy only took a step backwards. "Shouldn't we take her to the hospital?" He asked, his brow furrowing in young concern while his eyes studied the banshee on the couch; knowing solely by the sound of her heart that she was not in any sort of danger.

Allison's eyes lifted from the task her hands had taken upon in order to look at the beta once again. "She's not bleeding anymore; this is dried blood." She informed him. "She's just knocked out." And with a confirming bob of Isaac's head, he turned around and left in order to find what was asked of him. "I don't mean to sound ungrateful that my best friend is still alive," Allison admitted after a short beat, holding Lydia's hand after helping Scott place a cushion under the girl's head, and allowing her eyes to dance from the alpha to Brittany with curiosity upon her next words. "But why would a demon let her live?"

It was as if something had clicked in the new girl's head, because after a curious look crossed her features, and without a word, Brittany turned around and disappeared in the same direction they had carried Lydia from. "Brittany?" Scott called, frowning and standing straight with curiosity and worry shining upon his features. What she had shared with them after touching the bloodied leaves of the latest crime scene had made the group trust her enough to let her help the way she claimed she wanted to; She had recognised the clothes on the boy of her 'vision' as the ones Scott remembered Stiles had worn the day he had disappeared, she had described in morbid detail the demon's work on the girls, and the logic it had taken for Scott to identify the common denominator of the murders to be all blonde, petite, green eyed girls just like the one Scott had met upon a party nearly a year prior with his best friend; a girl who Stiles had claimed to be as old a friend as he had been, if not older. It all made sense; and in more ways than one, Brittany O'Brien had helped them put two and two together, with the means of proving she wasn't lying; but it still didn't mean that the pack wasn't wary of her, she _was _new, and a witch, after all.

It's why Scott had felt wrong at seeing her go into Lydia's kitchen with that determined expression across her features. "Thank you." Allison told Isaac, who had returned with the white box, yet frowned in the direction the black haired girl had disappeared to. "I think one of us should—"

"No need." Brittany interrupted her, walking back into the room with a cupped hand at stomach level and that cautious yet determined look shinning in her blue orbs. "I haven't gone anywhere, and I'm not going to, alright? Just relax." She told them, for what felt like the millionth time, with that accent of hers emphasising a few words as she walked in their direction, and knelt right beside the unconscious girl on the couch. "I want to help, remember?" Her tone slipped gently, comfortingly even, as she smiled in Allison's direction. But then she looked away, taking Lydia's hand with her free one and lifting her cupped palm in attempts to spill its contents onto Lydia's own.

But before she could, Allison's hand caught her wrist. "What are you doing?" She asked, frowning and watching Brittany as if she expected the girl to suddenly grow a second head with red horns to accompany it.

All the new girl could do was sigh. "I'm making sure your friend is _still_ your friend." She confided, her eyes dancing on Allison's as if solely like that the huntress were to believe her. "I can only think of one reason why a demon would leave someone alive, and that's possession." And it seemed to work, because after a short breath, and a comforting mutter of her name from Scott, Allison let go of Brittany's hand; as soon as that happened, the girl moved once again to continue on her interrupted actions, spilling the contents of her palm, on Lydia's; salt. "Monstra ti in nomini Cristi." She murmured in a soft tone, while rubbing her thumb against Lydia's palm to spread the soft white grains against her skin. "Monstra ti in nomini Cristi."

"You whispered that to me before." Isaac quickly recognised, his arms dropping from the lift across his chest, and a soft frown edged in between his brows. "I thought I'd imagined it, but I heard you after our conversation on the window." He paused, narrowing his eyes shortly and tilting his head a little to the side as he watched the girl pat her hands clean from any salt before standing from the ground. "You were testing me?"

The girl's bright blue orbs only shifted to look at his own, no hint of her familiar wit present across her features. "After I had the first vision I was wary of everyone around me." She admitted, lifting her own arms to cross them under her chest, everyone listening to her as Allison wetted a cotton pad with alcohol to clean the wound on Lydia's forehead. "I don't think you're even aware of it, but you keep your nature secret even within your mind," Brittany continued with an impressed air. "From the moment we met it was well weird to me how you drove yourself through sounds and smells, thinking about someone's heart and so on." She shrugged. "It wasn't until that conversation in the window that you finally gave yourself away; I thought you might be the demon for a bit, because you lied about having seen me when they found the first body, but then you thought about it, and, well..." Her head shook for a short moment. "...I realised that you're not a demon. Just a werewolf."

_And here I thought I was the one questioning and investigating you. _Isaac thought with a sardonic scoffed breath, head shaking along with the short familiar smirk that adorned her lips at his unspoken words. "_Just _a werewolf." He muttered; and he was going to say something more, but a short wincing noise brought everyone's attention down to the girl on the couch.

"Lydia?" Allison asked, dropping the reddish cotton pad on the first aid box in order to fully pay attention to her waking friend.

The strawberry blonde's eyes opened in a flutter that nearly made everyone frown along with her. "Allison?" She asked with a rough tone, lifting her free hand to rest against her head before a soft groan echoed with a breath.

"Oh, Lydia, thank god." The short haired brunette said, releasing a breath of air through parted brims the moment the girl's familiar green hues looked up at her; and the tension in the room popped like a bubble with the relief that temporarily filled the four.

As she attempted to sit up with Allison and Scott's help, a rough toned question came in a whisper from her lips. "What happened?" Her lids blinked repeatedly for a few moments with attempts to clear her sight, feeling the couch move beside her as Scott sat and nearly immediately reached for her hand.

"We were hoping you could tell us that." He said, attempting to ignore the torturous feeling that spread from his hand on hers to his own heart and mind as he took away her pain. "We were on the phone, and then the call went dead." He tenderly informed him, the question of his best friend's whereabouts clear on his eyes for everyone in the room; they didn't need to be mind readers like Brittany to know that the alpha's biggest concern was the well being of his friend.

By that point Lydia was frowning. "It was Stiles." She said, lowering her free hand and resting it on her lap, looking at Allison and Scott with the concern she had only been able to allow outlast the anger. "His eyes went black." She confided. "Empty, no whites, no... nothing but black, and he told me he wouldn't kill me yet." She frowned, her head shaking from side to side softly while her hand lifted to touch the place Allison had cleaned on her forehead, though evidently relaxed due to Scott's gentle touch. "Something about a plan B, and hoping to have more time to torture the boy or..." She gulped again, releasing another breath. "I don't remember much after that, just..." She dropped her hand again. "Him coming at me."

Whatever relief that had flowed in the air in the room moments prior completely dissipated into a cloud of tension and worry that was only breakable by the sound of the new girl's voice. "It's definitely a demon, but it doesn't make sense." Everyone's eyes fell on Brittany once again.

"And you are?" Lydia wondered in a curious tone, her eyes brushing along Brittany's appearance –her black and red lace dress, her black leather jacket, her black combat boots, clearly there was a pattern of colour there– until they landed on her electric blue orbs.

Yet the response the strawberry blonde expected didn't at all come from the curly haired girl. "Brittany." Isaac announced, taking a step closer to the group as if, had he not, they could come to forget he was in the room. "She's a witch. She goes to our school."

After a nudge from Lydia's hand, Scott let go. "It's okay." He reassured the banshee, refusing to move from his seat solely to comfort his friend a little longer, even if it had nothing to do with taking away her physical pain. "She's helping us." Lydia's brows rose, yet her gaze returned to the blue eyed girl, who smiled kindly in her direction, yet didn't lower her arms away from their crossed position.

"What do you mean by 'it doesn't make sense'?" Allison wondered after a moment of silence from her part; making everyone's attention move away from the introduction into the bubble of worry it had pushed aside; she had been thinking about what her best friend had said, what Stiles had done, what he had looked like; she wanted to make sense of it all, but only days ago she had spoken about the unlikeliness that witches existed, yet one was helping _them _now_. _Demons? That was a whole other level of weird she couldn't quite yet grasp.

The smile disappeared from Brittany's lips, and a release of air made her lips part. "Well, everything up to your friend's disappearance points to a trickster demon." She explained. "The unexpected suicides, the goo that your mum found on that boy's ear, the putrid scent you caught within your friend's trail."—She looked at Allison, Scott, and Isaac respectively with each spoken event.—"It's exactly what a trickster demon is _and_ does." She nodded, blinking repeatedly and watching upon the attention of their faces, specially Lydia's, who's eyes had narrowed in the academic attention Brittany had caught within her mind. "They specifically focus on deluding people; mostly into believing they want to end their life, but also into other smaller so called sins that will land the demon with the victim's soul." She took a breath, and finally her arms dropped. "But the rest..." Her head shook. "...it just doesn't add up; trickster demons don't suddenly choose to play around in a kid's body without killing them within the first or second day. The most they go inside a host is three days."

"Well, Stiles is still alive and possessed, right?" Scott asked, a frown adorning the middle of his forehead just like the others'. "Shouldn't the fact that he's alive be considered a good thing?"

Brittany nodded. "Of course." Her eyes widened before blinking rapidly and looking once in the direction of the others. "But as much as we should be thankful that the demon's chosen to keep him alive for so long, we should also be worried." She said, shaking her head while her forehead invaded with a frown. "Do you know of anything Stiles could have done to anger it? Or, trick it, or... I don't know, _anything_ that could have hurt its pride?"

Beside her, Isaac snorted. "It's _pride_?" He nearly mocked. "It's a demon, a killer of innocent souls, and you're asking if Stiles hurt it's _pride_?" The beta's head shook with disbelief.

"We didn't even know this thing _existed_, though." Allison added, looking directly at Brittany and shaking her head. "How could we possibly know if Stiles did anything to..."—she looked at Isaac for a second and then at Brittany—"...hurt it's pride?"

The exasperation in Brittany's voice became evident; even much more so with the short flail of her hands. "It may sound ridiculous,"—at that she threw Isaac a deadly look.—"but trickster demons are horribly proud, and it could be anything; just think. Anything he could have said to _you_ or... anything." Her eyes travelled between the four teens in front of her, and at their questioning glances Brittany sighed. "Look, that thing you said about his black eyes."—she motioned toward Lydia, whose brows rose regardless of her nodding head.—"It's a way anyone can see the demon inside the host." She informed, looking toward everyone else. "Because it's true form is horrid, and only visible to those with the sight, and sometimes audible to those with a gift for the dead."

"A gift for the dead? You mean, like..." Isaac leaned against the couch after having walked around it, resting his hands on the backrest of where Lydia was sitting. "...a banshee?"

It only took a nod from Brittany for Lydia to speak. "While Stiles was here I could hear him, or a more desperate version of him, whispering and screaming inside my head." She said frowning, looking up at the blue eyed girl in front of her with questioning eyes, and the mirroring concern upon the new girl's orbs made the frown between the strawberry blonde's brow deepen. "You're telling me that I could _hear _this thing?"

Brittany quickly shook her head. "You could hear the host trapped inside his own mind; Lydia, you could hear Stiles." She corrected. "He was trying to warn you, you _did_ hear him." She paused, frowning a little deeper. "Worse yet, it seems as if the demon itself _let _you hear him." And a surprised scoff of a breath escaped from the blue eyed girl's lips. "Now more than ever, I'm sure. It's definitely a trickster demon." She turned toward everyone again. "Your friend must have done _something _to anger it, but I'm positive; it's playing with you, all of you. It's been playing all this time; deceiving you into believing this old threat came back; she said it herself"—she motioned toward the banshee with a hand.—"The very alibi it used, it was this Jennifer person that tormented you before. It _played_ with Lydia, it _knew _she could hear the boy, so it let her. It's taking it's tricks to a whole new level. But _why_?" Her head shook, her hands dropping as her eyes fell to the floor in front of her; her next words echoing more as an outside pondering than something meant for conversation. "Why _this _boy? Why now?"

Once again, Isaac puffed out a breath of exasperation. "Nevermind the why." He said, pushing himself away from the couch and walking around it until he stood beside Scott, looking right at Brittany. "Shouldn't we be worried about getting rid of it? What if it moves away from Stiles? It could be inside anyone if it does."

Almost immediately Brittany shook her head. "I highly doubt it will." She looked up at him. "One they focus on a victim they don't stop until they're dead."

"But what if it did?" Allison asked, a curious frown edged on her features. "What if it chose to leave Stiles?"

All Brittany could do was continue to shake her head. "It won't, trust me." She lifted her arms to cross them under her chest again. "Not until Stiles is dead." She sighed. "But just in case, beware of any black smoke."

That's what made Scott's eyes return to the witch with a widened stare. "Wait, black smoke?"

She nodded immediately. "Yeah, it's the only other way they can be visible to any and every eye." Brittany explained. "They don't have a human form, nor animal. They're just smoke; a deep black smoke, easily confused as smoke from a fire."

This time it was Scott's turn to nod. "That must be it, then." He said with an air of short victory. "A day after Stiles disappeared, mom told me he had told her that the reason he had crashed that day was because he'd been trying to drive away from a cloud of black smoke." He confided, not daring to frown even as he looked at Allison and the concerned expression on her own features. "She said she didn't tell me before because Stiles had made her promise, but since he disappeared, it seemed like any detail was important."

"He made it to the hospital." Brittany stated, motioning toward the alpha with a hand. "If Stiles had been possessed before getting to the hospital, then he wouldn't even have _gone _there, because the demon would have somehow convinced him to end his own life before anything else, but he didn't; he arrived to the hospital, which means that your friend bloody outran this thing." Her tone slipped with an impressed undertone, but she was also partly smiling, and that alone was enough to get everyone else in the room wondering what the actual _hell _could be making her smile during such a horrible situation. So she turned toward them again. "Stiles _outran_ it; in its eyes the boy did nothing but _mock _it, call it weak, slow, he _tricked _it without even realising it, and, because of it, the demon has decided to teach your friend a lesson"

Finally, an air of outmost exasperation escaped through Lydia's lips. "What do we _do_, then?" She asked, frustrated, without getting up from the couch; her eyes, the manner with which her hands rested against the white material of the seat, they all expressed the near desperation that mirrored within her green orbs. "How do we help Stiles?"

Brittany's smile disappeared with the echo of a sigh; there she was, finding a little victory of knowing the reasoning behind this demon's revenge, and the victim's friends were suffering over the agony he was going through. How could she have done that? "We do what you do with any demon." She responded, only pausing to assure their attention and her own apology with a flicker of a look. "We exorcise it."

**To Be Continued.**


	23. Chapter 23: The Waiting

"Doesn't that have to be done by a priest?" Isaac Lahey wondered as he leaned against the couch the other three friends were sitting at, resting his frame in a sitting position on the arm rest by Scott's side and crossing his arms whilst looking right at Brittany with a curious gaze.

But her head shook softly. "No, that's just something the Catholic church has liked to hold over everyone's heads." She informed him, releasing a tired sigh that echoed with the many years she had disagreed with such a subject. "They take advantage of people, telling them they have to ask their big pope, like he's some sort of king, but everyone, and I mean _everyone_, can perform a successful exorcism."

The shortest of silences ensued; only to be broken by Scott McCall. "And how do we do it?" He asked, tone tired, concerned and desperate all at the same time. Brittany could hear it, in his tone as well as his mind, the deep worry he felt for his friend, the guilt over his disappearance when he'd been with him; such devotion would have made her smile in different circumstances. "What do we need to do?"

The witch released a breath, her eyes squeezing shut for a short moment before lifting her shoulders in a shrug and looking at everyone on the couch. "Well, we need him here, or somewhere we could hold him." She confided. "The first verse of the exorcism incapacitates it, but it also makes it want to escape faster; we can't let it do that, we need to find a way to keep him in one place so the demon doesn't just leave Stiles' body."

"You mentioned Catholic priests." Lydia said with an observant tone, her eyes lifting from their dance on her wooden floor before they lifted to look right at Brittany. "Does that mean these demons are like described in Catholic texts? Could we guide ourselves from that?" Everyone's eyes focused on the new girl.

And once again, her head shook. "Demons don't have a religion." She replied. "Every religion out there has evil deities, and they are all different takes on different demons. Not one religion has it completely right, but what we _could _do, is guide ourselves from as many demonic texts as we can; see which bits are alike and which aren't." She nodded, looking right in Lydia's direction. "I have a demonology book back at home." She confided. "It's old, _really _old, and it's in Latin."

"Archaic?" The banshee wondered, narrowing her eyes shortly and tilting her head to the right.

Brittany's head bobbed in a negative reply. "Ecclesiastical." She confided, already impressed by the strawberry blonde's knowledge.

"I can read it." She admitted, impressing Brittany the more. "Just tell me what kind of thing I'm looking for." The truth was that she wanted to keep busy, help as much and with anything she could, solely so she could help the boy, to save him, just like everyone else in the room seemed to want to do; she wanted to feel helpful, and with this, she could easily do so. It's why she suddenly stood so quickly, feeling ready to go anywhere she needed to for this book and the answers she hoped it contained.

But suddenly, for Lydia, every single wall started dancing a little, and her balance was nearly completely lost. "Whoa!" Concerned echoes surrounded her, as all four of the other friends reached to catch her if she were to fall; even Brittany, whose brow had furrowed in a frown at the unstable attempt at getting up. But Lydia simply lifted her hands at her sides, not only stopping Allison and Scott from reaching for her, but balancing herself under the pang of short pain that came from the corner of her forehead, "I'm okay." She said, fluttering her lids in rapid blinks as everything in the room returned to normal. "I'm okay."

Scott was frowning. "Are you sure?" He asked, hands still lifted in case his aid was required in some form or another. "Maybe Isaac's right, we should take you to a hospital." He admitted, closing his open hands in worrisome fists.

No one was surprised with the girl shook her head. "No, I'm helping." She simply stated, lowering her hands to fix the folds of her skirt before pressing one palm against the place on her forehead that stung and hurt nearly as badly as a migraine. "Let's just go, I'm going to be sitting the entire time, right?"

Brittany nodded. "But you should get some sleep." Nearly everyone in the room turned to nearly glare a hole in the middle of the new girl's forehead, except Scott, who looked at her with wondrous doubt. "We can all go to my house, you can all stay there and sleep while I figure some stuff out; that way we're already all in the same place." She nodded. "We're going to need as much energy as we can to do this, it won't be pretty." She admitted without wavering her confidence.

Lydia scoffed a breath. "But the longer we take to plan this, the longer _that _thing is out there." Her hand lifted to rest against the place that stung on her forehead.

Scott shook his head, resting a hand on her arm in attempts to take her pain. "No, she's right." He said, making everyone look in his direction. "We can't just go into it blindly, and you _should _rest, Lydia." He told them with a shake of his head.

"Exactly." Brittany allowed. "We can't put half the effort into this for the sake of haste. You were hit in the head, Lydia, and yes, you _will _be able to help, but you need to rest first." She then turned to everyone else "As I said, we can all pop round to mine, I can work there, some of you can rest while the others help; I know you want this demon out of your friend, I do too." She nodded, and the conviction in her own eyes was enough to convey her concern for the boy she had never met, and it surprised the two wolves in the room due to the fact that her heart remained steady all throughout her speech. "But if we just hurry now, and half-try this, then your friend might not even make it, or he might, and then the demon wouldn't take long to possess someone else and it bloody well could end up killing more than a dozen victims before long."

The silence that followed only confirmed her words, the logic behind them tooting from the walls unwanted against everyone's heads. "Fine." Lydia said with a frustrated tone, lowering her hand and lifting her shoulders in a rather forced shrug, her eyes falling to the ground along with a heavy puff of a sigh escaping through her lips. "I'll leave my mom a message." She moved again, walking past Brittany to head toward the stairs that would lead her to her bedroom.

Everyone's eyes met, an air of agreement echoing unspoken before Allison nodded once. "I'll call my dad." She announced. "I'm gonna..." She pointed in the direction Lydia disappeared to before following in her step, calling her best friend's name as she went.

That left Scott, Isaac and Brittany in the room, and whatever tension that had remained behind the other two girls dissipated by the simple sardonic tone in Isaac's voice. "Sleep over with the new girl." He stood up, lowering his hands and dusting them off against his jeans for absolutely no reason other than not knowing what else to do with them, his brows raising as his eyes rested on his alpha and the witch that promised to help. He had to scoff an amused breath. "Sounds fun."

-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-

The night had passed with the promised taken turns helping the witch; Lydia had been the first to be requested to sleep in Brittany's offered bedroom along with a protective Allison, and Scott and Isaac kept watch over everyone while Brittany consulted her texts and her past for any sort of clues. The two wolves questioned her, as time passed, about any sort of detail that Isaac seemed to be unable to explain to his alpha about what she had told him within his time in her basement; and at about 6:00 am, Lydia came downstairs, saying she had left an asleep Allison in Brittany's bed, and giving Scott a look that hurriedly invited him to head up there so the huntress wouldn't wake up alone in a stranger's room, completely ignoring the gentle frown that disappeared from the witch's forehead the moment she turned around and walked toward the dining room, where she'd been working all night.

Only a few minutes later, Lydia and Brittany were reading texts in Latin, and Isaac was asleep on the couch. "Thank you for letting me sleep in your bed." The banshee told her, without daring to lift her eyes from the text in front of her, her fingers delicate upon the thin paper of the old volume. "I fell asleep as soon as my head hit the pillow, so I guess all of you were right." Her tone was slightly annoyed, plain, solely because of the fact that she felt as if she'd wasted hours sleeping when she could have been helping the other girl go through her books.

Something that the witch across the table easily caught within her mind and invited her only to nod and acknowledge the gesture with a smile. "No problem." And then her eyes had lowered once again, tracing over the words and symbols in her books while noting anything that could at all be considered helpful upon a notebook. She didn't want to think, not about the way Scott's pack had so strangely accepted her help, because she welcomed it, she allowed the sentiment of a team, wrap itself around her like a warm hug and basked upon the means of feeling helpful; she didn't want to think about the doubt that still echoed from Lydia's mind, she didn't want to think about the looks the rest had sent her way during their drive to her home, because the good things –like Scott's smile and the welcoming feeling with which he had so gently attempted to understand her, and even the flicker of trust from him and Isaac–, they were the ones keeping her calm enough to think straight, enough to be able to help and search for something she most likely would not be searching for if it weren't for them; if it weren't for the sole fact that she expected to be able to give the so called pack what they wanted, and—

"How come a girl like you has texts like these?" Lydia suddenly asked, breaking off Brittany's reverie like the pop of a bubble and making her eyes lift in the strawberry blonde's direction, whose eyes had narrowed shortly in her direction, questioning, curious, even shortly testing. "You weren't kidding when you said they were old." Her hands weren't moving, the tips of her fingers held onto one of the pages' corners while the other rested gently with the weight of a page-holder. "You live alone, you drive a great car, you _somehow_ tricked our principal to be able to get into high school, because you're _clearly_ not a teenager. You seem to know Latin." The list made Brittany's brows rise. "How?"

Her eyes didn't move away from Lydia's greens, even after the short shrug that made her shoulders lift and drop; everything had happened so fast from the moment they had all arrived to the banshee's house that everyone, even Brittany, had forgotten to fill her in on her age and her mental abilities; and exactly because of that, and the fact that, regardless of if Lydia's brain was mostly set on finding a way to save her boyfriend, she had found a way to observe, study and deduce some truths about her, Brittany found herself impressed. "You're right, I'm not a teenager." She confided allowing her eyes to dance on hers, setting her elbows on the table and resting her palms on the pages of the book in front of her. "You're really smart, aren't you?"

The grin that crossed Lydia's lips was as much sardonic as it was proud. "Don't sound so surprised, sweetheart, I'm top of the class."

A soft scoffed breath left Brittany's lips regardless of if her head bobbed in a nod. "I can tell." She admitted, lowering her eyes toward the book in front of her without exactly paying attention to the words written within. "These texts are mine." She admitted with a soft clear of her throat. "They were given to me by my mentor a long time ago." It had been so long since she had had _one_ person know who she truly was, how old she was, yet, now, within less than twenty four hours, a whole pack of supernaturals and their friends were in the know. It was so... strange. "And I know Latin because it's my native language."

That was what made Lydia's eyes lift once again and narrow with her lips forming the smallest of calculating o's. Facts, knowledge and read truths fumbled within her brain like infinite quick flashes, and it had only been a short few seconds of silence before she spoke again. "I don't see how that's possible." She admitted. "This kind of Latin is old; not older than Archaic, but it is a dialect that has not been used in everyday conversation in at least a millennia." Her eyes remained narrowed, her hair falling on a curtain at one side of her face as she studied the black haired girl intently. "You would have to be more than a thousand years old for this to be your native language." She paused, watching as the witch's gaze lifted in her direction in a slow motion that hoped to convey much more than she was speaking, which was nothing; the look within her blue orbs confirmed Lydia's words in many more ways than one. It made the banshee's eyes narrow even deeper, her lips press in a gentle line of doubt as she watched every single feature upon the girl's face; not one feature flinched in any sign of a lie, and Lydia knew exactly where to look. "Huh." She said after moment, leaning back on her chair and moving her hands away from the book's pages so she could continue with her searching. "I guess I now truly have seen it all."

Brittany smiled, lowering her eyes back toward the text in front of her and releasing a soft sigh. "You'd be surprised at what's out there." She confided, flipping the page in front of her and frowning at the text that refused to truly give her what she wanted.

This time it was Lydia's turn to scoff a short breath. "My ex boyfriend turned into a lizard man, died, and came back as a werewolf." She admitted, turning the page of the book. "I brought a deadly alpha back from the dead due to some freaky banshee thing, the town was attacked by a woman who killed in order to get enough power to get her vengeance, most of my friends are werewolves, and I'm helping a thousand plus year old witch find a way to save my boyfriend, who is highly possessed by a demon." Her eyes lifted, only to find Brittany's shiny blue orbs already looking in her direction with a curious and sympathetic raise of her brows; it only made the strawberry blonde wish to hide the short discomfort that she had brought upon herself with a sardonic expression across her features. "I think by this point I wouldn't be too surprised about anything the world decided to throw at me."

"Point taken." The other girl told her with the smallest shakes of her head and a sympathetic grin crossing her features while, once again, returning her gaze toward the text in front of her. "But the amount of things you can see within hundreds upon hundreds of years, it's..." She nodded, then shook her head, as if the information were too much for her head to choose on one motion alone. "...it's surprising."

Lydia's hand fell against the pages of her book again. "I don't understand, then." She admitted, inviting the girl to look up at her once again, which she did, with a curious gaze and her brows lifted. "How is it that you've lived so long, and seen so much, but you still have to search for an exorcism to rid _one _human boy and _one_ town from a demon?"

Brittany had almost forgotten how much she usually found herself annoyed by smart people; the thing is that, with Lydia, she didn't feel annoyed, she felt impressed, and the respect the blue eyed girl had started to have for her, only grew. How could she explain it, though? How could she possibly explain her true purpose without making the white lie part of the deal seem like something enough to stop her from helping? "You're right." She still said, releasing a defeated and fought against sigh regardless of if her mind was a giant plethora of storms within storms; and she wasn't even surprised to see the strawberry blonde's brows lift with an air of victory and mixed curiosity. "I've dealt with more than just two demons in my time, and I know an exorcism by heart." She admitted.

And immediately Lydia's features shifted within the frustration that had shown back in her house. "Then why are we wasting our time reading all of this?" She asked, almost ready to get up and scream for the rest of the pack to move due to the fact that the new girl had been stalling, one and a million conspiracies already forming within her mind in a quicker manner than it was possibly taking Brittany to understand them.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa." She said, reaching across the table to hold onto Lydia's hand before any of her thought actions could come to happen; and that seemed to surprise the banshee enough to narrow her gaze in Brittany's direction again. "I can assure you, none of those strange treacheries you're concocting are true; I'm not on the demon's side, I'm on _yours._" She reassured her. "Yes, I know an exorcism by heart, but the exorcism alone has rarely left a host alive. It kills the demon, but more times than not it also kills the victim." She admitted, and, thankfully, that seemed to be enough to make the banshee's conspiracy theories begin dissipating one by one. "It's why I wanted more time," Brittany pulled her hand back and sat down straighter. "I didn't want to take the risk of losing Stiles along with the demon, I need to make sure that whatever we do leaves the host alive, otherwise his chance of surviving a normal-halted exorcism are genuinely next to none." She paused, allowing the information to sink into the strawberry blonde's brain as clearly as she could make it. "And even my magic can't bring him back from death," She informed her. "Not without its consequences."

Lydia's eyes closed, her lips pressing on a tight line while a near defeated sigh escaped shortly from her lips. "And you couldn't just have told us that?" She asked after a few beats, the ghost of a pleading expression opening her lids to look directly at the witch across the table. "The truth will get you much further in this group than keeping secrets."

Almost instantly, Brittany nodded, releasing a sigh as much relieved as it was guilty. "I haven't exactly ever been in a _team_ while helping anyone before." She easily admitted, her words and her features shadowed by a past the banshee did not dare ask about due to the already tight time they seemed to be rolling on. "Right, that is also a lie; I did, once, with my mentor, and it didn't end well." Even then, the apology within her gaze was evident to Lydia's eyes, and it made a nearly invisible concerned frown cross upon her features. "I'm not used to..."—she frowned—"...teams, packs, whatever you want to call them." She repeated. "I didn't know how all of you would react to it, and I didn't want to take any chances."

A silence followed; one in which Lydia observed her with curious and almost sympathetic orbs that ended up surprising her by realising that she believed Brittany. She didn't know what it was, her words, her actions, the strange manner in which her hand suddenly started shifting a ring on her finger as if it was the most precious thing she'd ever held, as if her mind was miles and miles and years away from there; but Lydia believed her, and it made the softest of released puffs of breath echo with kind forgiveness. "Just tell me what I'm actually supposed to be looking for."

And after a fluttering blink of her eyes, Brittany did, forcing a promise within her mind to never hide facts or truths from the rest of the group; not if she truly wanted to help.

**To Be Continued.**


	24. Chapter 24: The Plan

The lights in the hospital's main level were flickering as they had for the fifth time that day, and Nurse Payne's eyes lifted to look at the strangeness for a moment, her hands resting upon the material of the desk while the wonder of such an unlikely occurrence passed within her mind; it was a cloudy day outside, but there was no rain, no thunder, nothing to make such a thing happen so out of nowhere. She sighed, her eyes lowering to the filing job she had been doing, only to come across a man, a boy, standing in front of her; eyes tired, face nearly too pale to be healthy, clothes full of filth. "Hi, there." He said, pressing his hands onto the counter of the desk in a soft brush; his expression just as tired as the shadows on his orbs seemed to be. "Can you page Melissa McCall for me, please?"

"Stiles?" Came the voice of the nurse he had requested, making him turn around and away from Nurse Payne; Melissa had been fixing something in her pockets, a writing board on her other hand; something she almost immediately let go of the moment her every sense recognized the boy steps away from her; she moved quickly, lifting her hands in his direction, almost cautious and wondrous over his physical state. "Oh my god, Stiles."

That's when the boy's every strong feature seemed to dissipate into a wave of defeat; one that made Melissa quickly move toward him, not only to catch him, but to wrap him in her arms due to the tears that started falling down his cheeks. "I need to talk to you, you can't call my dad yet, please, I can't—" He said, breathing quickly yet still speaking in the nurse's direction with a tone of urgency. "I just need to talk, I—"

Nurse Payne's hand almost automatically reached for the phone. "Do you want me to call the sheriff?" She asked, eyes aware completely, on the two and pausing on her actions for some sign of agreement or otherwise.

Melissa frowned, eyes set on Stiles' watering eyes and the tears that adorned his cheeks. Her hands tightened on his biceps and her head shook. "I'll take care of it." She told the other nurse, who frowned shortly but nodded; then started leading the boy away. "Come on." She told him, an arm around his shoulders. "You can tell me all about it while I make sure you're okay."

It was a soft spoken "Thank you." And his hold on her that encouraged the nurse to lead him toward the elevator so she could lead him to the level with the rooms and assure herself that he was physically okay.

"Where have you been?" She asked, urging him forward with the tight hold on his frame. "How did you get here?"

Stiles' head simply shook, the tears falling gently down his cheeks. "I had to run here." He confided, stepping into the elevator and leaning against one of the doors, watching the nurse let go of him to press one of the buttons on the pad.

"Have you talked to Scott?" She asked, stepping back to Stiles' side and flicking a look from him to the closing door. She had told Nurse Payne she'd take care of this, and she would, she had to. Why did he not want to call his dad? What if…"Do you know what happened to those girls?"

There was a ding that echoed around them, and the room started moving. "Yeah." She heard the boy tell her in a different tone, a broken tone, rougher; such a tone that made the nurse turn around with a frown invading her eyes. There were still tears on his cheeks, but they looked out of place; he was smirking. "I killed them."

The familiar amber of his eyes disappeared swiftly within a black shade that was the last thing Melissa McCall saw before everything went black.

-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-

"We're going to have to set a place." Brittany was telling everyone who stood in a semi-circle around one end of her long table; Lydia Martin standing beside her to complete her explanations as if it were a team work's school presentation. "We need to lure him there somehow, it has to be a private place where no one will interrupt," she continued. "I think we can do it here; we can summon him and immediately trap him."

Lydia quickly reached for the book she had been reading, and carefully laid it onto the table to display one of the details she had found within the Latin words. "With this." She told them, pointing at the old circled drawing of a five pointed star surrounded by some writing in the very Latin symbols the rest of the text was written in. "This will not only trap Stiles, but it will make that thing inside him weaker." She informed them. "We need to draw it either under or on top of where we want to trap him. Wide enough for him to lay down, but small enough for him to _feel _trapped."

Brittany nodded in agreement to her words, studying everyone's gazes as she continued the explanation. "It will be good enough to weaken it, but it will _still_ be strong." She told them. "So we need to do more than that; we need mistletoe, a red string the length of this table,"—she motioned with a hand to her dinning furniture—"salt, thyme leaves, and wine vinegar."

"Are we going to exorcise him or are we going to cook him?" Isaac asked with a scoffed breath of amusement at the list given so strangely to them, standing straighter and lifting his eyes away from the drawing Lydia had showed them all, only to see everyone's eyes on him and making any hint of amusement disappear from his features.

Even Brittany had rolled her eyes at the comment. "Neither." She admitted; but before she could say anything else, the curious tone from Allison Argent reached all of them beside Scott.

"What do you mean 'neither'?" She asked, her eyes dancing from Lydia to Brittany with strangeness twisting her features. "Yesterday you say we were going to exorcise him."

It was Lydia who answered the question, instead of Brittany. "We can't exorcise him." Her eyes were solely fixated on her best friend's, but her words were perfectly meant to become clear to the two wolves. "If we do, we could end up killing him."

The witch nodded again. "Exactly." She allowed, releasing a soft breath before speaking again. "But we found a spell; we can _burn_ out the demon out of Stiles and terminate it forever. And more importantly," she nodded again. "It will leave Stiles alive as long as he doesn't have any humanly lethal injuries."

Everyone seemed to understand enough to not argue, and instead, deeply worry for their friend. "What do we have to do?" Scott asked, shifting his gaze from Brittany to Lydia and back again with a curious and assertive end.

Brittany had to nod, placing both her hands on the edges of the book open where she'd been sitting. "We need to get all those things I told you." She nodded once, for emphasis. "But we also need someone who's _very _close to him." She looked at every single one of the teenagers. "Someone he loves dearly; someone who could pull him back from a suicidal thought if he ever were to have one."

"Scott." Allison said.

"Lydia." Isaac echoed at the exact same time.

It made the other three raise their brows and Brittany's lips lift with the promise of a smile. "They can both do it." She allowed, looking lightly at Lydia's eyes meeting Scott's with a smile and a nod of their agreeing heads. "Contrary to what some History books say, there _is _power in numbers."

They nodded, and after a short breath, Lydia spoke again. "Is this the part where we save him from himself?" She asked, looking right at Brittany and making the other three friends frown at her words.

But, of course, Brittany confirmed the girl's words with a nod. "It is." She turned to look at Scott to make sure what she explained came about clear enough. "You and Lydia are going to go into his mind with my help while _I_ pull the demon out." She informed. "The thing with a possession is that the demon becomes _part _of the host; exorcising it is like killing part of him." She explained, attempting to do so as best as she could. "It goes on survival mode as much as Stiles' body would, so it starts taunting Stiles into a mental suicide, making it think that he can't live without the demon inside him. And _that _would only leave Stiles in a coma for the rest of his life, or worse, it could kill him; _that's _what happens in a normal exorcism." She nodded, noticing with some sort of relief the manner in which everyone's attention and understanding seemed unwavering. "What _you _two are going to do inside his mind,_"—_she continued, motioning with a finger at Scott and Lydia.—"is talk him out of that mental suicide. Make him _aware_ that the demon isn't actually part of him, that it's an unwanted intruder, something he should want to get rid of." She paused. "If you can do that, it will save him, there's no question about it."

"We can do it." Scott said without even thinking about it, nodding decidedly and setting that part of the plan closed without any more words needed, due to the fact that Lydia was nodding along with him with silent agreement to the very important task they'd been handed with.

It was with relief that Brittany nodded before looking in the direction of the other two. "Isaac, Allison." The attention from the two friends sharpened even more as they looked at the witch. "You two are going to be the observers." She announced. "The ones to pull any of us out of it if something goes wrong, the ones to protect us all during the ritual." She paused. "Any outside, physical harm is not likely to happen, but all three of us are going to be connected." She then motioned toward Lydia and Scott once again. "Only _they _are going to be inside Stiles' mind, and, again, I doubt it would happen, but if they start bleeding in _any_ way, nose, mouth, ear, _anything, _you need to pull them out." Both Isaac, and Allison nodded in confirming understanding. "Because if those things start happening, then it means they couldn't save Stiles, and they're dying along with him."

"That won't happen." Lydia quickly added with a shake of her own head. "It's just a precaution."

Brittany nodded in silent confirmation. "But, also..." She frowned, gulping shortly and allowing the slowness of a breath slide over her lips. "The demon is going to sense Lydia, Scott and me trying to fight it in one way or another, so..." Her tongue left her lips in a gentle way to moisten them, her eyes falling toward the book in front of her. "...if this demon is the kind I think, then it's going to try to get inside my head." She announced, lifting her gaze once again, this time, attempting to meet Isaac's own with a somewhat heavy look. "Can I trust you?"

Isaac almost immediately frowned, his hands tightening on the hold of his own frame as he stood straighter and glanced at the rest of his friends. They were all frowning too; yet by the time Isaac's eyes landed on Brittany again, he realised her own blues had not at all stopped looking at him; surely she was investigating inside his head to get the answer she requested. "Yeah." He surprised himself by saying, feeling that frown remain with strangeness and curiosity upon her inquiry; he wasn't going to kill her or anything, hell, he had even been surprised that she had thought him a suspect once upon a time, what a joke. But it all sounded a little too serious, could she trust him? Well... yeah, as long as she didn't try to hurt anyone he deemed close and he cared for then there was no reason why he should do something to harm her, or... "Why?"

She nodded, and the worst part was that a rather mirroring train of thought was crossing within the witch's mind; she didn't trust anyone, that was the main reason why she never slipped into a team. How could she have ever trust anyone with her past? With centuries upon centuries of betrayals, of lies, of so many other things that made the blue eyed girl wish upon a lock to forever hide her secrets; but solely with a threat such as the one the beta wolf had slipped into her mind, of suspecting her of horrible things, she had let this boy and his entire pack in already. She didn't like it; she was scared, worried, but, for once, a life was at stake, and any and every discomfort she felt within her entire being, she had to push away in hopes of being fully able to trust the blue eyed beta with one of the most important tasks of the whole ritual. "We're going to need a burning knife." She replied, though not exactly to his question, but still entirely relevant to the situation.

Only to her, of course, because everyone else seemed a lot more confused. Everyone, but Lydia. "Why?" Scott suddenly asked, breaking off the bewildered silence that had taken room in the little circle. "What do you need that for?"

Brittany had to force herself not to sigh; to not show any sort of sign of just how much her next words scared her, how she knew exactly what such actions would bring up, how she was not at all ready for it, but... "Whenever I say Isaac's name..." She gulped, locking her jaw for a short moment; she had to put all her fears, all her discomforts away... "Whenever I say his name, it will mean the demon's getting into my head, and Isaac will have to burn me with the knife to shake me away from its tricks."

Almost immediately, a short array of words echoed from the three friends; Lydia didn't much agree with that part of the plan, and she was going to express exactly such a fact, when the ringing of Scott's phone stopped everyone's words into such a heavy silence that only left the ringtone echo against the walls; it didn't take much longer for the alpha to reach inside his pocket to see who could be calling him. When he saw the caller I.D. he didn't even think twice about answering. "Mom?" He turned away from them all; he _had _texted her that he'd been staying over at the house next door, she _knew _he was not going to school that day, she was up to date with most of what was going on, so why was she—

"Scott, I have a message for you." Came Melissa McCall's slightly trembling voice from the other side of the line, her breathing was shaky, the gentle whimpers between breaths inaudible for anyone without Scott's hearing abilities; it was all enough to nearly drown the colour of the alpha's face. "From Stiles."

Everyone's eyes were on Scott, the way the muscles of his back tensed, the eminent smell of worry Isaac could almost immediately catch, the very content of the conversation that Brittany could listen to due to the fact that she could get into his mind, the silence that continued until many beats later when the boy turned around with a haunted gaze and a slowly lowering hand and his cellphone loosely gripped within his hand. "Scott?" Allison asked, her eyes studying him as much as everyone else was, and stepping closer to him. "Scott, what is it?" She asked.

His lids blinked repeatedly in a flutter as his hand placed his phone back inside his pocket. "Change of plans." He said, instead of replying to his inquiring girlfriend, a frown edged on his forehead and his brown orbs dancing in the direction of each of his friends. "Stiles has my mom." He told all of them, something which both Isaac and Brittany were already aware of, but Lydia and Allison reacted worriedly to. "He wants to talk to me." He paused. "Alone." He nodded, recalling the manner with which the trembling tones of her mother had reached his ears, so broken, so scared, being as brave as she could be; he gulped. "Or he's going to kill her."

**To Be Continued.**


	25. Chapter 25: Stiles Isn't Available

The phone dropped from Melissa McCall's hand with a cluttering echo in the one deserted floor in the hospital; the one that was under renovations. It had chosen wisely, while the group had been conjuring up a plan, _it _had conjured one as well; and it had succeeded, the nurse was standing inches from him, her hands harshly held with his once they'd once again been free. It was amused, it was taunting, it had taken much less time than it thought for the woman to wake up, and hell if it didn't take advantage of the fact. "Really, Melissa?" It had whispered in her ear after she'd opened her eyes. "I would have thought having a werewolf for a son would make you a little bit more cautious, yet…" It had scoffed, ignoring the manner with which she attempted to break free from his tight hold. "…I shed one tear, and that's all it takes for you to think I'm just some victim here to see you?" It had laughed, it had tsk'd, it had enjoyed mocking the woman for a few moments before commanding her to call her son with the dreadful news. "What would Scott think?" It had mocked. "You trusting so quickly even though logic tells you otherwise?" It sounded amused with Stiles' broken tones, a release of an amused breath had only made the hairs on the nurse's arms stand on end. "You should be more careful." It had chanted, and it had enjoyed it so much that, within any silence, it basked on the pain and fear it had brought upon her; it had threatened her, because she was not any more stupid than the rest of the pack seemed to be, they were all a bunch of annoying smart-heads to the intruder, nothing but a nuisance it had to be more clever to defeat; she had attempted to escape, so it had had to threaten her, her son, everything she held dear, and relaxed on the reality in which it didn't need to truly use corporal violence to get the woman to stop attempting to break free.

That had just been an extra pang of fun for the demon within.

It was why, now, she trembled, the near lack of illumination and the fear she felt within were enough to make her cold to the core; his hold on her hands had been forced to return as soon as the phone had been dropped, and her breath escaped through her lips in short panted airs that only sent a further dread throughout her being. Every fibre, the spot of flesh his hands tightened around, it all felt cold under his hold. "This isn't you, Stiles." She told him, whispering the words within a breath as she foolishly moved her whole body in attempts to free herself from a grip that only lightened the more; by now, the cold in her hands was due to the lack of circulation within them.

But, of course, the intruder laughed a breath right beside her ear. "Oh, it is now." He said, with the terrifying amusement serving a soft echo of a reminder than everything seemed to be upside down. He had confessed to every horror she had accused him of, he had hurt her enough, he had just seemed to have thrown away any possible sign of recognition that would make the boy have any personal resemblance to her son's best friend, he had—

The thudding sound of the doors many feet away opening broke both criminal and victim off from their sickeningly synced reveries. "Stiles, let her go!" Came the sound of Scott's voice only seconds after the thundering noise that accompanied his one set of steps as they ran in their direction, stopping only when the boy's hand lifted away from the hold on her hands to wrap threateningly around the nurse's throat.

The deep dark shade of the blackened orbs adorned Stiles' gaze, only making that smirk across his lips the more terrifying; it chuckled with his voice, it moved with his limbs, and it watched the fear and awareness travel within the alpha's eyes with every passing moment. "Oops." It said within the scoffed breath of amusement. "Stiles isn't available at the moment." It mocked with a twisted grin, taking only one step forward while pushing the body of the nurse with his own movements. "Would you like to leave a message?" With a flinch of his arms to pull her closer, Melissa gasped.

Scott's hand shot upward, the tone of the voice he usually recognized, so rough and broken, twisted with the amusement that sickened the alpha, made a crease appear in the middle of his forehead. "Let her go." He repeated, stubbornly "I'm here." He stated. "Alone, just like you asked. So let her go."

He wasn't at all surprised when Stiles' head started shaking, the deep dark of his orbs fading away with the gentle waves of breathed amusement that escaped through his lips uncharacteristically. "You can't tell me you truly expected it to be that easy." He taunted the alpha without a pause, relishing the beat of Melissa's heart on the tightening grip on her throat. "Come on, I was starting to be impressed with just how smart you bunch of kids seemed to be." He admitted, tsking in the same feigned disappointed manner as he had done for Melissa alone before, even as she released a frightened breath against his touch.

Scott couldn't feign being surprised, because he was not a child, he had stopped being one when the life of others started becoming something he needed to save; he hadn't exactly _expected _for things to be easy, he had only hoped for them to be. "What do you want?" He asked, instead of forcing himself to reply at all to the taunting the thing inside his friend seemed to enjoy using loosely and only made Scott worry that much more. "Why call me here on my own if you're just going to go back on your word?"

Stiles' head shook, his lids blinking in flutters for a short moment as his hold on Melissa's frame tightened even more. "There's no need to be so dramatic, Scott, I never said I'd let her go." He said, with a rather amused smile across his lips; something that only made the wolf in front of him frown deeper. "I said, 'come here alone, or I'll kill her'." Stiles' head bobbed in a slow nod, mocking Scott with the slowness with which he spoke, drawing his words out as if he were talking to someone who wasn't very bright. "As you see, there's no mention of ever letting her go, is there?"

Scott's hands remained at his sides, his eyes flicking from Stiles to his mom, whose eyes remained closed with the terror that invaded her forehead as she remained pressed against Stiles front, unable to move without making the trap that his hand had become on her neck tighten. "What do you want?" He simply repeated, his eyes lifting to return to Stiles' familiar amber hues that made the whole situation all the much worse; at least with the black depth from before, he could see the evil that had taken over his best friend, but with that darkness gone it was almost hard to remember that the boy who held his mother so strongly wasn't actually Stiles, even if he would put his hands on fire to vouch on the fact that Stiles would never do such things on his own.

Another minute reverie broken by the breath of a scoff escaping the boy's nose with a flare of his nostrils. "Alright, fine, fine." Though his hold remained with one hand, with the other he reached inside his pocket to retrieve a shiny scalpel that only made Scott attempt to take a step forward in its direction once again, only to abruptly stop due to the swiftness with which the demon moved Stiles' frame until the sharp end of the scalpel rested threateningly at Melissa's side. "Careful, wolf, we're playing by my rules here." He warned, taking a step closer to Scott, enough to confuse the alpha into a heavy frown and the depth of an aware stance. "This little thing is not for me to use." Stiles said, moving the scalpel away from Melissa's side to wiggle it a couple of times in the air. "If you were patient you would have learnt that a couple of minutes earlier."

Scott's anger was growing, his hands had balled into fists and the image of his mother so helplessly attempting not to move too harshly to avoid being hurt was hurting _him_ more than he thought possible. "What do you _want_?!" He had to asked again, louder, breathing as calmly as he could in order to keep his wolf at bay.

The smile across Stiles' lips remained, but the amusement that adorned it shone brighter before he replied. "I want to play a game." He admitted, not bothering to move any closer or further before lowering the hand that held the scalpel and flicking it in Scott's direction, in order to toss the small object at the floor before the alpha and jerking Melissa to the side, without letting her throat go, so that his torso became exposed for the wolf in front of him. "It's something I came up with ages ago called 'kill, or I kill you and everyone you love' starting with mommy dearest here." He smiled, motioning with his free hand to Melissa, whose hands had lifted in attempts to stop his own from squeezing any harder. "Your friend, Stiles, he is rather familiar with the game." He said, looking at Scott once again with that unmoving grin adorning his features in amusement. "But I'm going to make it even more fun for you, because, you see, your friend is special. And I want _him _to have fun too."

Scott's eyes had fallen to the scalpel on the ground before him from the moment he had spoken of killing; it looked disgusting to him, threatening, but not to him, not really. "You see..." The demon continued, finally making Scott's eyes lift from the shiny object resting inches away from him. "...in this game, you either stick that thing here..."—he pointed and tapped with the pad of his finger right against his own chest—"...or I am going to kill _you_, your mom and every single person you've ever held dear."

Scott was _not _even going to consider it, he didn't need to; he knew he didn't; he was saving everyone, or he was going to die trying. Besides... "You will kill me and everyone I love even if I agree to that sick game." He stated, his head shaking once in disagreement as his feet took him backwards one step; using the demon's momentary amused and sardonic laughter as an opportunity.

"Well, there is nothing I would like more than to do that, I'll give you that." A rougher tone of Stiles' voice said, breathing slowly and finding the nurse's struggling amusing alike everything else. "But this is my game." It said. "So make your choice."

Scott's entire body froze, eyes flickering from the scalpel to the image of his best friend, but of course, the thoughts that crossed within his mind were not the ones the demon hoped, they were calculating, they were aware, they were ready; and they pushed the alpha to simply allow his head to shake once again. "I'm not going to do it." He said, his eyes flicking toward his frightened mother in his hold. "And you're not going to kill my mom either." With a quick motion, Scott looked at Stiles again. "You're surrounded."

Perfectly on cue, the doors Scott had come through swung open with a loud clash; and with a breathed cry from one Brittany O'Brien, her hands shoot forward, her eyes faded into the cloud-like white that invaded forcefully to give upon the wave she sent forward that much more power by the time it crashed against Stiles' chest. He flew backwards, hit with an invisible wave that willed the body of the possessed boy to crash loudly against plastic sheets and paint cans left there by the people who made renovations; his hand slipping away from the hold it forced on the nurse, and only making the woman fall forward in a tumble that made breathed gasps attempt to will back the air that the demon had mostly stolen with its hold. Motions that only pushed Scott forward to attempt aiding his mom at the same time that Allison Argent stood at the ready with her bow pointed in the direction of the slowly recovering demon. "Are you okay?" Scott asked his mother as he helped her move away, in the direction of the closing doors, even if his hearing focused only on the sound of plastic crunching under the heavy movements of feet and hands.

"I will be." Melissa told her son, with a strong nod and a rough tone escaping through her lips while her hand squeezed the wolf's shoulder.

A gentle squeeze that was easily and quickly reciprocated by a shift of his own. "Can you run?" He wondered just before the echo of a loud crash tooted behind him.

"You think your little toys can _help_ you, little girl?" Stiles' voice came angry now, the amusement it had shone with before was gone, and when Scott looked back, he realised the pitch black from before had returned to his best friend's eyes, and they were locked on Allison and the bow she held threateningly toward him.

Melissa's breath came jaded, but her voice slipped with much more certainty than her hurting throat allowed her to feel. "Go." She told Scott, nodding in his direction when he turned to look at her again. "I'll run, go!" And then she was gone, a reassuring smile in her son's direction that accompanied her until she disappeared behind the wooden doors.

"Do it." Stiles was taunting Allison by the time Scott ran back in their direction. "Go on, _shoot me!_" He yelled, that horrible black gone once again. Where was Brittany? Why was she not yet doing her part of the plan? "SHOOT ME!" It was as if _Stiles _were the one asking them, it was exactly how it looked due to the lack of black in his eyes, it made Scott sick.

The huntress' eyes refused to move away from Stiles for more than a flicker, her hand trembled softly on the string, digits holding the edge of the feather upon the taunting from the demon that was not at all shifting her mind. "Brittany!" She called, her eyes flicking once again for no more than a second toward the seemingly unconscious frame of the girl.

That's when Scott saw her; laying near a window with shards of glass surrounding her body, the wood in the middle of the frame, which had surely been the only thing to stop the witch from falling out, twisted broken, held together only by a wooden splinter, her hair like a deep black curtain in front of her face. "JUST SHOOT ME." Stiles screamed again, forcing Scott's gaze upon his friend once again.

"Don't do it, Allison." He told her, not that she needed to be told, as he walked closer with a hand raised in warning; but it didn't matter, because after an annoyed and angry yell and a swift movement of Stiles' hand, the arrow on the bow became free of Allison's grip, leaving a horrified expression on her features and a loud fearful, "NO!" echoing from the alpha's lips as they both watched the arrow dive straight onto Stiles' stomach.

The demon didn't even think twice before ripping out the arrow as loosely as possible, leaving a wide gash along the boy's stomach that started bleeding as soon as the material was out. It was laughing, strongly, confidently, as it coughed up blood and made the smile along his lips become more terrifying than before as it dropped the bloodied arrow onto the ground with an audible clink that echoed with the tiniest of movements somewhere behind him. "Oh, don't worry." Stiles' uncharacteristically rough tone left from his tainted lips. "He'll still be awake enough to see me kill you two." And he took a step, and another... but then he stopped; a frown crossing his forehead as the black shadowed and hid the amber like water until any colour had disappeared, nothing but the black that shadowed deeper by the frown it suddenly wore. It had stopped as if he'd hit a wall, as if his feet were suddenly glued to the ground, and gravity had started getting deeper, for his whole frame trembled, once, twice, before it started falling toward the ground; it was as if he were getting weaker by the wound it had forced upon Stiles' body, only... the wound bled no more. And due to the silence that suddenly wrapped the room, everyone was able to hear clinking of glass a few feet away.

Brittany.

Her lips were moving, her eyes were that empty shade of white even as her hands pushed back the hair that had covered her face before, her frame crawled and lifted from the ground as the demon's fell. "What is this?" It asked weakly, Stiles' hands falling with his palms against the ground, as if it were fighting.

"... inferni praecipio tibi, daemonia infernalis: Audite vocem meam, et responde mihi discipulus inferni..." Her frame rose from the ground, prickled by little shards of glass that refused to separate from her flesh; Stiles fell until he rested upon the ground motionlessly, eyes closed, lips still tainted with the drying blood that had stopped flowing from his bigger wound. "...somno meo daemonia, cura teipsum, si loquaris ad me, somno meo daemonia, inferni praecipio..." The little to no light in the hallway flickered as Scott and Allison took a couple of steps forward, their gazes shifting from Brittany to Stiles, frowning, watching their friend resting upon the ground as if he were in a deep slumber.

It wasn't until her words had stopped, and the white in her eyes had faded into the blue or her orbs, that Scott at all dared to move closer in the direction of his friend, gripping his hand tightly until the pain within him slipped into Scott's frame with a familiar taint. "He should be okay, but we need to hurry." Brittany said as she walked closer, making both Allison and Scott lift their eyes to look at her, curious and questioning upon the bloodied state in which Stiles rested. "I can only keep him unconscious for so long, but I assure you, if we do everything according to plan, your friend _will_ survive this." She paused. "But we need to hurry; we need to paralyze him before it wakes up."

It's all it took for Scott to lift his friend from the ground; a solemn look closing his eyes. "Isaac's with Deaton." He announced with a nod. "I'll call him."

**To Be Continued.**


	26. Chapter 26: Prepare For The Worst

"The single, put him on the single couch." Brittany said, urging everyone forward into her home, watching Isaac and Scott struggle along their swift movements while carrying Stiles' frame, Isaac by his feet and Scott's hands under his friend's arm pits. They led the unconscious boy toward the red material of the previously offered; setting the boy down as carefully as they could while Brittany shut the door of her home behind Melissa McCall, who had managed to free herself from her work once her son had spoken to her about Stiles' state.

It was why she didn't waste another second on voicing her discomfort upon the situation once again. "Guys, this is crazy." She admitted, her head shaking and her hands clasping before her as she followed the teens into the girl's home. "He needs to be in the _hospital_." She stopped a few inches from the coffee table that Allison and Lydia were moving aside.

Not even a few seconds later, a very tiny meow echoed from the wooden stairs; for only a couple of seconds everyone's eyes fell on the black kitten that made their way toward the group; but they all looked away the moment Brittany, after a short gasp, and a gentle "Kit kat, no." lifted the feline from the ground and turned around to climb up the stairs from which the kitten had come. "You can't be downstairs, it's not safe..."

Her words faded away mindlessly as she moved further, at the very same time that Scott moved closer to his mother without much of a gap between her own words before replying. "Mom, remember what happened the last time he was treated in the hospital?" He asked, truly enough for the woman's eyes to lower considerably in the direction of the unconscious boy without needing much more of a reminder of the fact that something horrible had gone down in that hospital bedroom without her noticing. "Plus," Scott added, lifting a hand in attempts of comforting and prying away a pang of guilt that refused to disappear from her frame; something he had so easily brought upon. "He just attacked you there." He reminded her, again, not like she needed it. "I don't think it's going to matter."

The nurse's hands fell to her sides as a nod bobbed her head, the puff of a released sigh escaping from parted brims before she at all began to move in the direction of the unconsciously sitting teenager on the red couch. "Alright." It was all the encouragement she needed to take a breath and kneel right before Stiles and attempt to carefully lift the boy's gray shirt; she kept her fingers away from the wound specifically for her lack of gloves, but even then, even as she touched the surrounding skin and the definitely drying blood that adorned it, she found herself confused, though relieved, and guiltily enough, worried. "It doesn't look like he's bleeding." She informed them, the shadow of a frown darkening her orbs as her experienced sight studied the folds of the wound, the wide open gap, the tones, the almost near to perfectly dry skin that should have already killed the boy minutes upon minutes ago; the wound was unsurvivable, yet... "I think he might even be healing." Melissa admitted with a confused, yet undeniably relieved expression adorning her soft features as she stood up and took a step back.

"You mean healing like we heal?" Isaac wondered, his eyes flicking away from the pale colour of Stiles' skin to look at his legal guardian with a little more than a short curiosity that did not dear break even after she nodded and he looked away at his unconscious friend.

"That's good, right?" Scott wondered before Isaac could, making everyone in the room look in the nurse's direction with the sense of a hope for a good reply.

But it didn't come from where they expected; instead, it came from behind them, with a strong accent and the echoing sound of her shoes' soles hitting against the wooden material of her floor. "For him, yes." Brittany told them, letting out a breath, and looking around at the five that had turned around to face her. "Us?" She asked, stepping further into the room while shaking her head. "I'm not so sure."

"What do you mean?" Lydia wondered, her green eyes dancing from the unconscious boy to the blue eyed girl.

"I mean that we should probably hurry." She replied, looking away from Stiles to flick her eyes in Isaac's direction, who only nodded once before turning around to open the black shoulder bag he had placed on the set-aside coffee table to begin taking out, one by one, the items she had listed. "I wanted to save Stiles, and I did." Brittany admitted, looking in Lydia's direction with a disclosing tone. "But using that spell to heal his wound, didn't only help _him_, it helped the demon as well." She nodded, searching the eyes of the ones that watched her for signs of understanding; and though she found them in most, she still forced herself to add, "It will make it stronger."

That was truly all the group needed to start moving; after Lydia and Brittany had drawn the circled pointed star with chalk on the wooden floor where the coffee table had rested, together, Scott, Isaac, and Miss McCall, lifted the single couch toward the middle of the design; not ever even truly thinking twice before taking a step back in case the rough movements woke the boy and the demon within. Seconds later, with a soft spoken Latin whispers from the witch, the grainy chalk upon the floor shifted, tightened and formed well until the drawn lines were perfectly solid paint-like patterns; shifts after which she nodded at them once again, and encouraged Scott, who had been holding onto a given vial, to walk forward until he stood inches away from his best friend's feet. "Hold his head back." He requested from Brittany, who easily moved around the single couch to carefully do as asked while Isaac hurried forward to attempt helping by forcing the boy's mouth open. "Careful." The alpha told them both as he unscrewed the cap of the vial and lifted it until the liquid fell like a tiny waterfall into the boy's mouth.

Not even two seconds before the last drop fell, Stiles' lids flew open, revealing the deadly black infinity that his hues had become, and the hand closest to Isaac lifted until it wrapped tightly around the beta's throat. "Get him off me, get him off me!" Isaac pleaded while attempting to push a strong hand away from him, to fight against his hold, to ignore the amused expression on his lips. Brittany and Scott attempted to help; and the soft whispers from the witch were about to start, when, solely with a hard hold from Scott's own hand, Stiles' digits fell away from Isaac's throat, who quickly stepped back from the white outline on the floor with a hand against his throat and a frown in the middle of his forehead.

The boy was frowning, though, the black of its eyes fading away with confusion as his limb trembled with the effort it attempted to push against Scott's hold; a hold the alpha dropped as soon as it began and stepped back alongside Isaac and the rest of the group, who had moved closer with hopes of helping; the frown in the middle of their foreheads seemed to end up being the most common. Stiles' back and arm dropped and rested against the red material of the couch as a feigned amused scoff escaped his nose in a puff. "Kanima venom." He stated, gaze lifting in Scott's direction while his head fell immobile atop the back rest. "Nice touch." If the tone in his voice wasn't enough, the sardonic lift of his lips displayed his discomfort.

For a short second, the only sound in the room was everyone's breath. "I thought you said you could control him." Allison told Brittany, breaking the silence and encouraging everyone's eyes in the witch's direction.

A witch who ticked her head back shortly and slowly turned to look in Allison's direction, exhaling a breath and nodding before she spoke. "Yeah, and I told you the healing spell would make it stronger." She simply stated, not as harshly as she felt the words should have escaped, but still well enough to make the huntress frown.

All of which was forgotten when Stiles spoke again. "Have you checked on your father, Allison?" He asked, making everyone's eyes return to his frozen frame on the couch, only forcing upon a deeper frown in the middle of her forehead that had absolutely nothing to do with the witch's snark. "Haven't seen him since yesterday, have you?" It taunted, smiling enough to show Stiles' teeth in a grimace that looked as much evil as it looked satisfied.

Though Allison's eyes refused to move away from the questioning boy, her head shook, lips parting to allow more breath to slip into her lungs. "He sent me a text this morning." She shortly informed, edging her frown deeper as she shifted her frame to face directly at him. "Said he was visiting Gerard."

It wasn't too long after, that Stiles' brows shot up and the grin across his lips spread wider. "And you believed him, did you?" It continued to taunt with that diverted tone, shaking his head with as much motion as he could master due to the paralytic. "Didn't think of calling him even once?" The tsking sounds that escaped Stiles' lips not only made Isaac's jaw lock, but everyone's features shift in curious and angry grimaces as he continued displaying the words the demon wanted them to hear. "Oh... I hope I'm wrong." His lips twisted low, shifting that annoying grin into an even more galling smirk. "It'd be so unlike you."

It's all Allison could take before a step led her forward, making Lydia's hand beside her quickly shoot up to hold the inside of her elbow, making the huntress turn around to look at her with that unmoving frown; the demon breathed out a laugh just as the banshee shook her head. "What have you done to him?" Allison asked instead, looking back in Stiles' direction with a raging narrow of her eyes, feeling rather thankful when Lydia's hold dropped.

The smile across the boy's lips truly refused to waver. "Okay, I'll give a little hint." It allowed, clearing Stiles' throat and poising a forced seriousness upon his features, resulting in nothing more than annoyance from Allison, whose hands tightened onto fists within seconds. "He's in your weapons garage." It informed her instantly; something that only made the frown across her forehead deepen as her kind orbs shifted automatically to look in Scott's direction.

Of course the alpha didn't take longer than a second to nod. "Go." He encouraged, seemingly enough for the huntress to even start moving.

"I'll drive her." Melissa McCall stated, lifting a hand to press a squeeze onto her son's shoulder and hurrying to follow the decided teenager down the hall toward the house's front door as the demon laughed in a remaining twisted version of Stiles' voice that made the hairs behind Scott and Lydia's neck stand on end. It would be so easy to pretend their friend had gone crazy, to say that the thing inside him didn't exist at all, it could fool them that well; it was terrifying, but at the very same time... it was angering.

"Oh, I hope they get there in time." It mocked gently after that twisted sound stopped. "I like hunters." It mused, releasing the puff of a breath while his head shook resting against the red material of the couch, from where he seemed to be unable to move. "They always make my time more fun, you know?" It looked in their direction, forbidding whatever bit of a victory to slip from its grasp. "Though I gotta admit, those ones are one weird brand of hunter; it's the first time I see one of 'em being okay enough with the supernatural to be dating a werewolf." The breath of a chuckle escaped through his smiling brims once again, so wickedly that it made eveyone's brow furrow with disgust. "Though, I guess it's no weirder than the banshee and her human." It said, looking in Lydia's direction with a narrow of Stiles' eyes.

Of course, the last words spoken had been the last straw for the banshee he spoke of. "You brought something to paralyze his body." She stated in Isaac's direction, gulping once yet absolutely refusing to pry her eyes away from the sickeningly smiling boy and the shadowing black orbs behind which the familiar amber hue disappeared. "You got anything for his mouth?"

With a scoffed breath and a minute smirk of his own, Isaac nodded. "Yes, I do." He simply stated, turning around to look toward the black bag on the coffee table before reaching inside for a big roll of black tape of which he swiftly cut a rectangle piece to easily place against the possessed boy's lips.

Where it would stay until the group was done preparing for the rest of the plan, now, with one person short.

**To Be Continued.**


	27. Chapter 27: Playing With The Wounded

_The snow adorned the floors of the fields on that winter day of 901; every villager attempted to keep warm inside their homes, it seemed peaceful, calm, regardless of the wind that beat against the trees as if it wished to make them fly; such an image that did not at all mirror the horrors that haunted the young thirteen year old in the highest house on the hill, the biggest of the village. Her breath came jaded, soft trembles against the wood of her home as the tears fell like coal against the floor, her palms pressed under in attempts of lifting her form from the ground without much more of a sound. "Vos oportet esse grati estote!" _You should be thankful, _her father was yelling, in the Latin families of such stature as his had been completely fluent on at the time, regardless of the Anglo-Saxon tongue everyone in the surrounding villages and families of lower means spoke. "Tradidi vovis omnia!" _I give you everything. _His hands fixed his tunic, lowering it away while the girl whom a millennia later was referred to as Brittany rose from ground with a soft propelling of her hands and forced her gown low prior to cowering away against the nearest wall, as far away from her father as she could move. "Ego te occidissem, post tuum ubi mater obiit! Tibi nihil es sed in vastitatem! Interfectorem!" _I should have killed you when your mother died! You are nothing but waste! A killer! _His hands gripped the closets clay pot and threw it to the ground near her, making her jump away from the contact until she had crashed against a dusty seat; her tears continued, silent, shaky against the soft scared whimper that escaped her lips. "Pythonissam!" _A witch!

"_Quiesce!" _Stop! _She yelled, forcing upon her tears to not fall while her hands lifted at the sides of her face to stop any more of the man's abuse. "Quaeso, desine, papa!" _Please stop, papa!_ She could see the horror in his mind, the hate, the manner with which he saw her as nothing more than the reason her mother was dead, nothing but a burden than he had not had the heart to dispose of solely because her big blue orbs had looked up at him alike her mother's when the latter was drawing her last breath upon her birth. He hated her, he wanted his own pain to stop, because that which he had welcomed when she had been a child only poisoned with time, until it led them there, a horror shared by both and tormented by him as he walked closer and closer with his sword in hand. "Papa!" She yelled, moving away from him, holding the middle of her gown on the air so she wouldn't fall while she fled. _

"_Tibi nihil es sed a interfectorem phythonissam!" _Nothing but a killer witch!_ He repeated waving his sword in the air in a threatening display of hate toward the girl. Repeating more and more insults, more distasteful curses upon her life that did not seem to be enough to leave her alone, but enough for her tears to reach a volume she only ever allowed when he hit her too hard, just like he had then, only the hits he stroke with had been verbal. _

_It was too much, it became too much, his hate, his thoughts, the feeling within the middle of her stomach as it bubbled up with a surge that made her want to scream; a surge that exploded so easily the moment a step of his screaming utterance led him forward with more spat calls in her direction, and made the controlled fire within a corner of the room explode toward the ceiling in a bird-like shape until it crashed against the man with a wrap of its wings warmly against his frame. He screamed, the girl stepped backward with a horrified expression and her upright hands extended in the fire's direction. Her cries halted, but the tears fell slowly upon trembling features as the image of her father disappeared within the flames; flames that grew and grew until there was no option left for her whispering words in call of the man but to stop until her body started moving away from the eating fire and the steps led her toward the lowest floor, where her bed could be found along with the counted possessions her father had allowed her, among them, the tablet with her name; a tradition that even his pride would not have allowed him to break. _

_She ran when the wood above her creaked with the heat it carried, filth adorning her face by the time her partly covered feet pressed against the snow upon which she fell many feet away from the burning home. She stood, the embroidered blanket with which she had made her possessions portable falling from her hands when her frame faced the burning place completely; but suddenly she wasn't thirteen anymore, she was older, much older, the same look of horror printed across her features as parted lips inhaled the pricking cold air with hurried gasps "Brittany!" She heard upon a whisper in the wind that played with her long curly black locks like a lover. The unknown name repeated upon another whisper, this time closer, like a murmur against her ear. _

_And then something moved at her side, her blue orbs shining with the already shed tears as she looked to the side. "Isaac." She heard her voice whisper under the gentle flakes of snow that fell against her bare skin, stayed like a cover along her curls. It was a man, sweaty, crouched down by her side, looking up at her with a pleading gaze that did not at all match anything she had ever seen before, his frame covered with odd clothing that made the fire in front of her feel distant. "Isaac!" She repeated, the name nothing but a whisper that sounded like a scream to her ears; and then within a blink it felt as if the fire that consumed her home had fallen upon her skin, scorching all the way into the bone and leaving her with nothing but _the screams that echoed all throughout her house, tooting against the walls in a sickening mixture with the twisted laughter that escaped from Stiles' lips and the sizzling sound of the hot metal against her skin.

Her eyes opened instantly, breath just as jaded as it had come in the memory the demon had forced her into, her hands balled into fists that refused to let go of the string that tied her by the wrists to one of Scott's and one of Lydia's; string that once had been red and with mixed ingredients and a few words had turned golden. "Don't move." She told them once again, because this had happened before, with a memory much less painful that the one it had given this time, and Isaac had had to force her out of the torture with a forced movement of his hand until it had left a mark on the girl's arm. But, of course, upon such a moment, Lydia and Scott had attempted moving their hands away from the position Brittany had requested of them to never move away from –resting against Stiles' temples–, much like they had done this time. It was why she reminded them, why she forced herself to remind them while allowing parted lips to release the ghosts of breaths and hoped for her heart to beat upon as calmly as she could.

The demon continued laughing, though, watching amused with the darkened orbs as the blue eyed girl attempted to gather herself once again, basking on the satisfaction that seeing a couple of tears slip from her pressed lids brought it completely. "You think you've gotten stronger, little witch." It taunted with the minute shake of Stiles' head that it could master upon the paralysed body. "But you'll always be your fathers pathetic victim."

It seemed to be all the broken girl needed to yell and resume the chanting the demon had forced her to break with the burning flames of an old memory. Latin words spilled from her mouth and the demon's laugh broke; it wasn't that much later when a gasp echoed from Scott and Lydia for the first time since Brittany's first attempt; and with a soft glow from the golden strings that connected the three, their eyes shifted into a white as empty as the one that adorned the witch's orbs.

-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-

It was a loud and breathless gasp that made Lydia and Scott awaken with their body sitting straight in the middle of the school gym. The place was empty, dark for nothing more than a couple of lights illuminating them from the ceiling, the benches tucked into the wall into nothing more than a patterned outline, so broken and dark that it was nearly impossible to distinguish. Lydia and Scott sat side by side, their legs pointing in opposite directions and their hands resting on the wooden illuminated ground under them; their eyes met and their breaths slowed. "_This_ is Stiles' mind?" Lydia wondered, the words tooting against the gym's walls with mirroring waves.

Scott's shoulders lifted in a minute shrug, his head shaking for a short moment. "We do spend most of our time in school." He stated, propelling himself with his hands to stand straight, along with Lydia, who he did not even gave him a chance to offer her a hand before standing herself. "The thing is, how do we find him?"

The banshee was moving her hands along the folds of her skirt, ridding it from any dust that might have decided to remain from the floor; and she was going to say something, she was, but just as her lips were parting, the loudest roll of thunder echoed deafeningly against the gym's walls. It was a sound not at all muffled by windows; as if the clouds from which storm it announced rested just below the gym's ceiling, but when Scott and Lydia looked up and lowered their hands from their shielding position against their ears, they saw nothing but the dark shadows of nothingness that rested above. "What the hell was that?" The strawberry blonde girl asked, and then it started raining. Her orbs lowered until they met with Scott's, widened and worried over the impossibility over the situation; _raining inside? _Though, really, when she decided to look at the whole picture, being in the mind of her boyfriend seemed much more impossible than anything she'd ever done.

"I don't know, but I think we should—" That's as far as the wolf had gotten, because only seconds later, an equally thunderous clash illuminated the entire gym with a white strike that hit upon the wooden floor right between the two, making them jump away from the possible death in opposite directions. "Run!" He yelled, and Lydia didn't have to be told twice, more thunder and flashes echoed and shone around them, near them, making them jump and cover themselves loosely with their hands as they ran in the direction of the gym's exit doors. Doors which, when they opened, threw the two friends into a blinding flash of white.

-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-

It was forcing out its laughter, mocking the witch while attempting to foolishly pry itself away from the paralysed boy it possessed, speaking of any possible nightmare of a memory Brittany could become tortured with in attempts of tricking her and the intruding people inside the boy's mind away like electricity to mosquitoes. "You think you're such a good person." He spat, chuckling nearly devilishly regardless of if the girl's words did not stop. "But you can't really say that, can you? Not after killing that little girl in the name of your immortality." The witch's eyes closed, shutting in pressed that wrinkled around her lids to accompany the frown that had fallen. "What was her name?" It taunted, watching her intently as her head shook and her words continued. "Annabelle?"

Isaac watched as Brittany's hands twitched and balled onto fists, the whispering of her words breaking into an explosion of anger within two simple words. "SHUT UP!" She yelled, forcing herself to continue her words; but it only made the laughter it forced from Stiles' throat to slip more genuinely.

"And you thought centuries of helping others would make up for it, didn't you?" Isaac could see him, Stiles being commanded and controlled by this thing, but in another corner of his mind his eyes focused on a different image; it was happening again, that liquid the girl had made him drink, the reason why she had inquired upon his trust; she had already told him about her past, he knew some of it, and she had decided to trust him with more of it by allowing him the freedom of seeing alongside her when the demon tricked her into a torturous blinded reverie that trapped her in a memory. _Can I trust you? _She had asked, and he had not at all thought that such a thing was what she could have meant. But there he was, watching everything in front of him cloud with the flick of a memory that was definitely not his; _he stood watching in the corner of a room, a girl he easily recognised as Brittany, looking exactly at the age she did outside, halfway sat on a small dusty-looking bed muttering soft words to the bundle on the bed that remained blocked by her frame, the green of her dress brushing against the dusty floorboards, the long curls of her hair reaching all the way to her hips. She whispered words in a language Isaac could not recognise; at least until she slipped into an impossibly old version of English, one that sounded almost to have come out of a Shakespeare play. "I am sorry, mine child." She said, the echo of a sniff reaching Isaac from the image before him. "I hath not the heart to finish thy life when thou wast born. Though I hat'd mine father f'r having curs'd me with thy life, I learnt to love thee with all mine heart." Isaac moved closer, feeling the weight of the previous memories falling upon his mind in the manner she had entrusted him with, and at that very moment, his eyes focused on the hand that did not caress the soft pale features of a sickly girl; Brittany was holding a knife. "Thou will suffer nay m'r." _The demon chuckled lowly as the dark of its eyes focused on the lost witch, the spoken words had almost completely stopped; it was winning once again, and as Isaac saw the Brittany in the vision stab the child she had so softly spoken to, _"Paeniten me, filia mea." She whispered as she cradled the limp head of the sweating girl against her shoulder. "Princeps mea, my Annabelle." She cried, the red taint from the spilling blood from the child's heart dripping onto the wooden floor and the hem of the linen material of Brittany's dress... _Isaac knew he had to stop this.

"Brittany!" He called, as much in real life as in the memory she lay haunted in, taking a couple of steps in her direction in mirror within her torture and the steps he could see himself take in her direction before the demon as if from behind a veil. _"Brittany!" He walked toward her inside that dusty room, his hand reaching for her forbiddingly before dropping. _

_Slowly, the girl from the memory turned toward him, eyes stained with the tears she had shed, tight-fit sleeves that had once matched the colour of her dress lay tainted with the crimson of the dead girl's blood, the clashing of the knife against the wooden floor shook them both. "Isaac?" She asked, _her words echoing in a broken whisper in the present world and making the demon's chuckle continue strongly with amusement.

"Burn your little witch." It taunted, halting the steps the beta had taken in her direction. "Burn her, let her bleed." They were words that forced the wolf to look down toward the arm he'd been harming; her once pale flesh lay tainted with a crimson much like the one that dripped onto the floor inside that torturous image within their minds. The edges of the wound shone with a deep black and orange, burnt with the metal he had pressed against her flesh, in his opinion, enough times. The wound looked bad.

And she had repeated his name.

His blue orbs fell to look upon the bright orange blade that he held with cautious hands before lifting toward the agonisingly painful looking wound that adorned the girl's flesh. "I—" He said, wishing his feet to move forward, to do as he had been asked regardless of the consequences, because who was he to wonder about consequences when so many lives were at stake? Who was he to question warnings from a thousand year old witch solely because hurting someone so strongly suddenly felt wrong? Why couldn't he move anymore?

"Isaac, do it!" The commanding voice of Allison Argent suddenly called from behind him, making the wolf turn around in the direction of her voice with a frown in the middle of his forehead. When had she come back? He hadn't heard the door opening, but he hadn't really heard anything other than the wind from the memory and the taunting from the demon.

Still, he felt his head shaking shortly, lifting the glowing knife along with his other hand to motion toward Brittany's bleeding arm without daring to look away from the huntress whose eyes assessed the situation faster than he thought possible. "Allison, that wound is too deep!" He expressed, watching her walk even closer to him until her frame was only inches away from his.

"She told you to." She said, highly aware of the seriousness of the wound that adorned Brittany's arm. "She _trusted_ you with this!" She encouraged, her eyes searching Isaac's own with the urgency she felt in many more ways than one; she could see Lydia and Scott's arms trembling even without the wolf vision, and it worried her.

"Allison!" It was all she needed to shake her sight away from her friends and not even hesitate to ask twice before reaching for the knife in Isaac's hands and taking the last steps that would allow her to press the orange glowing blade of the knife strongly against the witch's arm.

Her screams mixed with the demon's laughter once again.

-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-

The flash of thunder echoed behind them with a fading scream as the doors they had opened closed silently behind them; Lydia and Scott had expected to end up in the school's hallway, but instead of such a destination, they found themselves standing and listening to the echoing droplets of water as they fell onto the floors of the sheriff's station. It was silent, way too silent after the storm they had left behind, and the alpha frowned just as much as the banshee did while their eyes studied their familiar, yet completely empty surroundings. "Stiles?" Lydia called as she walked forward and turned around in a little circle, listening to the echo of her boyfriend's name in Scott's voice, steps beside her.

That's exactly when all the lights in the empty station exploded with flickering sparks that fell all around them like dangerous confetti, and the echo of a familiar voice tooted from the small hallway that would lead to the cells in the station; it was Stiles, and he was screaming. They didn't really need much more of a motivation before they started moving, flinching and nearly stopping when the blast of a gunshot tooted so loudly from that very same direction. "Stiles!" Scott called, running faster with a terrified Lydia following behind, jaded breaths puffing visible from their lips due to the cold that had engulfed the entire station simply at that second; within the silence the patting of their steps against the floor tooted so loudly that they nearly matched the gunshot they had heard, but when they reached the cells room it didn't matter; nothing at all mattered, because Stiles was sanding, with his back toward them, inside one of the holding cells.

His frame was still, his hands extended with a smoking gun pointed in the direction of one of the walls, which lay adorned with a brand new black spot as a left over from the resent blast that the boy had fired; even from where they stood, Lydia could see his hands so gently trembling upon their hold on the gun. "Stiles?" She asked, and it wasn't even a second later when he turned around and still shakily pointed the gun at his two friends; a feat that only invited Lydia and Scott to jump a step back, Scott's hands lifting in the air, as Lydia's palms rose wide open by her hips. "Stiles, put the gun down." She encouraged him, eyes flicking shortly from the trembling weapon and the familiar shadowed amber of her boyfriend's eyes.

"It's us." Scott completed, pushing his hands forward as if that alone were to stop any kind of bullet that could befall him. "We're here, we're going to get you out." He continued, forbidding himself from looking away from his best friend's eyes with the silent encouragement that he hoped was as obvious as his words.

But Stiles' head was shaking almost frantically, his grip tightened on the gun he held and a visible puff of air exhaled from his trembling lips. "No, no, you're not real." He said, voice echoing with the tears that tainted his skin, moving further back into the cell until his back had crashed against the wall. "It brought you here to hurt me, but I can't let it anymore." He admitted with that broken tone, snot and tears moistening his face from eyes to lips as he continued to arduously shake his head. "I can't let it hurt _you_." He cried, eyes pressing shut as he chest shook with a muffled sob pushed back by his own accord. "But it already did, and I couldn't stop it, I couldn't..." He sniffed, resting his back against the wall and dropping one hand from its hold on the gun. "I can't; I couldn't do it, and now it's too late..."

The one trembling hand that still held the gun lifted, only this time it stopped pointing at them; this time, the weapon was pointing toward his own head.

-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-

"GIVE UP!" It yelled at Brittany, whose hands trembled even in their balled position by her sides; yet her eyes remained set on him, remained white and endless as much as Scott and Lydia's, and the words she had whispered came louder, a chant in a normal tone that begged to drown any word that might leaved the possessed's lips. "You're going to fail! You're going to prove your father right, you're nothing but a failure and your past will blind you." It spoke, his voice rough and creaking as it broke before a cough; but the words he spat did not dare sting anymore, not as much as it wished, because he was no longer smiling; it was feeling her pull within and it knew that if she continued she would win. "JUST GIVE UP!" But it knew she wouldn't, she couldn't; even if her hands trembled she couldn't allow herself to break anymore, she couldn't allow the demon to taint her mind with her past, nor blind her with their image.

Of course, _she_ knew this, _it _knew this, but the two observers beside them, steps away from the circle, did not; it was the only reason why Allison remained at the ready with the burning knife held tight in her hand, waiting for any possible moment in which the witch would waver again and blind her friend with whatever it was the demon clouded her with, for her to speak his name. But she wouldn't, her words remained in clear tones in a toot around the room, and the thing inside Stiles no longer forced sickly laughs to escape his lips, the pitch black adorned his orbs still, but he coughed, once, and twice, and the amusement that had once adorned his features in play dissipated into a twist of a worried grimace; and instead of any spoken words from his lips came his coughing, and the explosive blast from a shredding light bulb down the hallway. It made both teens turn around to see where it had come from, and when Isaac's blue orbs met with Allison's, she nodded in his direction, encouragement printed in her gaze. "Go, don't take long."

The beta almost immediately turned around in the direction of the disturbance; the house floors creaked under his feet and the only sounds that echoed after were the words from the witch coming down the hall. There was nothing there, only the fallen shards of the light bulb that had so loudly exploded; nothing in the kitchen, nothing in the small studio beside it, and the basement's door remained locked, only to be open by the necklace around Brittany's throat, so he guessed nothing was down there either. His steps led him upstairs, where he checked the four bedrooms along the floor, seeing a little fluffy ball look up at him from the little crack he opened before one of its paws pressed against the white of the door; he crouched, pushing the little paw away from the wood so he could close it once again and a small whispered, "Sorry." Left his lips a second before the door clicked. Nothing out of the ordinary in the second floor either, just... very neat.

"There's nothing." He announced once he reached Allison's side again, looking at the weaker looking Stiles on the single couch and a still trembling Brittany; due to simply the fact that nothing had changed, he turned to look at his huntress friend before standing right beside her. "Where's your dad?" He asked, the obscure memory of the demon's previous taunting boiling his veins enough to worry.

But to his relief, Allison's features did not seem too pained or concerned when she turned to look at him again. "Melissa took him to the hospital." She informed him, letting out a soft sigh that expressed the same sort of boiling hatred that Isaac himself felt. "You remember how Scott said Deaton was strung up a while ago?" A short wave of understanding fell upon the beta's visage as his head bobbed in a confirming nod. "It's a good thing we got there in time, Melissa said he should be fine."

Isaac was going to reply, but before he could, the loud echo of a scream left Brittany's lips, pulling the two away from their momentary distraction only to witness the tight grip her hands formed; so strong that Isaac could swear he smelled the blood that started beading against her palm, making the already prominent one from her arm seem much deadlier. But that was not what shocked the beta and the huntress, it was, instead, the impossibly bright glow of the string that adorned both her wrists and one of Lydia and Scott's, it shone brighter and brighter each second, glowing with the sort of golden sparkle that he had only ever seen in cartoons before, or in overdramatic movies. "Whoa." He said, because it was as if little potent bulbs of light had shifted within the string to illuminate its outline to perfection.

It was enough to shock Allison back into the task she was supposed to be set on; observing. "Stay alert." She encouraged her friend, forcing her frame to face intently in the speaking witch's direction and the coughing sickly image of their human friend once again.

-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-

"Put down the gun, we're here to help you." Scott encouraged, his hands still lifted before him, but now they connected against the bars of the cell, pushing and pressing as if solely with such a contact either his friend would cease his deadly wishes, or the door would break. "All we want to do is help you." He repeated, but just like the first time he'd said it, Stiles' head shook from side to side, the tears continuing to stain clean his cheeks.

Lydia was not far beside him, her head shaking. "Stiles, please, you don't have to do this." She told him, making the frantic shake of his head continue and his eyes press until his free hand pushed against his temple as much as the muzzle of the gun did. "It's not a trick!"

The lock of the door clicked at the very same time the boy started screaming, his tears, the gun against his temple and his hand pulling his hair that trembled with his fear and rage; it only took the door opening an inch before Lydia started pushing the door to the side in order to run in her boyfriend's direction, taking much less than three seconds to reach the boy and push the hand with the gun away in any manner in which she could; only inches away from his head, the gun fired. "STILES!" Scott yelled behind Lydia, attempting to get hold of his friend in any way possible while steering clear from the gun he still gripped tightly.

"Listen to me, alright?" Lydia encouraged, her hands pressing against the wet sides of his face, resting on his cheeks, the water in her own hair dripping onto the stone floor in a darkened reminder of their first kiss. "It's us, I swear, it's us!" She continued saying as his head shook shortly, regardless of if those familiar and fully welcome amber hues rested on her own; behind her, Scott's hand had taken hold of the wrist from his best friend's own that held the gun. "Please, Stiles. Please." Lydia pleaded, desperately caressing his skin as the tears that threatened to spill down her cheeks mixed with the water that already tainted them. "_Please."_

But all the boy could do was softly shake his head against her hold. "You're not real." He whispered in a painful tone, defeated, angry and sorrowful all at once. "You can't be real."

"WE ARE!" Scott called, struggling to pull back his hand even a little, because at the very same time he was attempting to keep his gaze on his friend so the words he spoke echoed as genuinely as he meant them. "Stiles, you can't do this." He told him. "You want to _live_, you _can_ live, you can be okay." His tone was nearly as desperate as Lydia's. "If you won't think of yourself, then think of all of us, think of how you've helped us. Think of your dad!" He was pulling at straws, using everything he knew his friend loved to pull the boy out of the darkened reverie that kept him neck deep inside a hopeless water.

Much more hopeless than it appeared, since his head fell and more tears adorned his cheeks with water as his head shook as slowly as a tired defeat allowed. "I killed my dad, Scott. I killed him." He whispered between a whimper, sniffing regardless of the layer of snot that he later on attempted to clean with his shirt. "I killed all of you."

Scott's head shook, once and again without letting go of his friend's wrist. "No, you didn't." He said, pointing at himself, and then at Lydia, who had only dropped one of her hands, looking back to look at the alpha that assured the broken boy. "We're right here. We're alive, you didn't kill your dad, he is out there." He admitted, flicking his gaze toward the trembling gun and Stiles' tight grip on it before looking back at his friend. "I swear to you, that he's out there, you just have to come with us."

But Stiles' head wouldn't stop shaking. "It showed me." He admitted with another puff of a defeated sigh. "I saw it happen, I killed him, I killed you, I'm the only one who's left." The tears on his eyes wouldn't stop, frustration, defeat, anger and guilt echoed loudly from his lips as his hand started moving against Scott's hold one more time; but the wolf wouldn't waver. On the contrary, he pushed more and more and stayed away from the weapon's aim.

"STOP! STILES, WE'RE ALIVE!" Lydia yelled, returning her attention completely and unwavering toward the boy before pressing both her hands against his face."Scott's alive, _I'm _alive, your _dad _is alive, I talked to him this morning." She confessed, brushing the pads of her fingers against the moles she had already once played connect-dots with; but the crying boy continued to attempt shaking his head. "Please, it's us!" She called again, her eyes searching his features for words, as if what she should say remained printed on his skin, under all the sweat, all the filth, all the tiredness. "Stiles..." She could feel tears burning on her eyes, but she couldn't blink them away, she had to shake her head, once, twice, her lips pressing onto a tight line that made the breath inside her lungs taste heavier; the touch of her digits on his skin relaxed him enough for the tears to so very suddenly slow, and the expression on his features be nothing but a confused frown. "Do you remember a while ago, one of the first days you stayed over when my mom wasn't home, how you asked me if I had stolen one of your Star Wars shirts?" Lydia asked, her eyes dancing on his as if with only that one look she could convince him of everything she spoke; but she couldn't, not really, she simply decided to be content with the nod of his head. "I told you I didn't have it, remember?" This time she nodded along with him. "I lied." She forced herself to smile, to will upon grin that Stiles would recognise, that would give him a reason to believe her; such a silly object, a shirt, something she had stolen solely because it was his favourite and it smelt exactly like him, she had lied to him, she had taken it and it had been her comfort during the time he'd been missing. As much a comfort as it could be with the probability of his death. "I told you I didn't take it, but I did." She nodded, her eyes dancing on his desperately while his breaths softly began to turn quiet. "It's sitting at the top of my shirt drawer in my closet." She admitted. "You asked that day because you wanted it back, right? You want it now? Just..." Her digits pressed against his skin gently, pads brushing the smoothness of his pale flesh with the desperation she felt in every fibre. "...come back and I'll give it to you."

A second later, Scott added to her flame. "Come back with us." He repeated, his eyes searching his best friend's features with sorrowful orbs. "Come back with us and see how it lied to you; it didn't kill us, and you can see it as soon as you wake up." He encouraged, not daring to lose his hold on his hand regardless of if the strength on it had lessened. "Come back, see us, and if _we_ are the ones lying to you, then you can do whatever you want, we won't stop you."

There was a silence, one in which the friends' eyes connected once and again, one in which Stiles' every fibre told him otherwise of what they spoke, one in which the voice of the demon whispered in little breezes that he became aware the other two couldn't hear; but still...

It was a silence in which, finally, the gun in Stiles' hand dropped.

-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-

Stiles was coughing harder, louder, small specks of dark smoke puffed from his lips with each push. "Stop." It told the group, but his breath came jaded, all hint of amusement gone with the fearful grimace that twisted his features with horror. "What are you doing?" It coughed again, another puff of black escaping from Stiles' lips. "Please, just sto—" But it couldn't finish speaking, because only a second later, a force threw back the boy's head and a scream echoed from his lips; one muffled and broken within gurgles brought forth by the long cloud of smoke that spat itself up from his lips, beating and crashing within the invisible barrier drawn upon the ground; the golden string around Scott, Lydia and Brittany's wrists shone brighter and brighter, illuminating the room with as much source as a white hospital light until the material started burning and a light snap broke the bond in three, leaving behind the hanging remains of the red string around their limbs like a forgotten bracelet.

Lydia and Scott jerked back, the cloud upon their eyes disappearing instantly as a loud intake of breath brought them both to, their hands flailed, nearly falling back but easily finding a balance with their own steps regardless of if Isaac and Allison immediately split up to attempt helping the strawberry blonde and the alpha. "I'm okay." Lydia said, puffing breaths in and out of her system with jaded sighs while Allison's hands held her frame.

"We're okay." Scott echoed a second later, nodding in Isaac's direction and patting the beta's shoulder while his eyes studied the red string handing in a knot around his wrist; a study that was quickly broken the moment the faded sound of a shriek echoed inside the room, making everyone's eyes land on the still witch and the empty colourless look within her eyes. Her lips were moving, but nothing more than soft murmurs escaped them; Stiles' frame remained on the single couch, his head resting looking sideways against the top of the back rest, the smoke that had spilled from his lips hovered above his frame, crashing and shocking against that invisible barrier just as another faded shriek tooted against the walls of the house.

The smoke; it was the source of the screaming.

"Et ignis consumet vos, sit flamma ducet quo dignus es..." Brittany's words became louder just as the stroke of lightning echoed within the smoke, miniature thunder illuminating the shade where it flashed and ignited a fire within it as it turned in circles above the unconscious boy; a rush of wind circled around the entire room, playing with their hair and the curtains on the covered window flutter within it, but the many thundering sounds did not diminish, they continued along the circling of the trapped smoke, more and more, faster and faster until it became nothing but a broken blur of black, gray, and orange that illuminated with flashes of white upon the thundering menace until around the edges of the circle small holes started appearing like from a film slowly being consumed by fire. Bigger and bigger within the splash of colour that blurred in circles until every single puff of smoke dissipated from the air, burnt away by the engrossing flames that brought upon a peace within the room the moment they faded in the air and left a tender silence behind.

And then Brittany O'Brien was falling to the ground.

Her lids fluttered for a short moment; as small a moment as it took Isaac to react and move quickly in her direction to catch her frame before it crashed against the wooden floor upon an exclamation of concern from everyone around them. "Brittany?" Isaac asked, shaking the girl's frame shortly in the kneeling position he had ended up in, pushing back the black curly locks that invaded her face. "Hey, Brittany!" He frowned, looking at the deep burnt wound in her arm, and the droplets of blood that fell from it while he gently shook her one more time; she wasn't breathing, the pulse of her heart was weak. "Brittany, wake up!" In fact, there were only four heart beats in the room... but there were six people in it.

And at the very same time, both Brittany and Stiles' eyes opened, their chests lifting and their lips parting to inhale a deep breath that brought them both back to consciousness and shocked the other four to flick their eyes between the two, once and again until Isaac was helping Brittany stand carefully and the other three stood around the seat where Stiles was gulping and taking in every single one of his surroundings; the chair, the house, the markings on the floor, his friends. But then his gaze met Brittany's, and his lids fluttered in minute blinks once and again. "You didn't tell me your name." He said with that familiar tone everyone nearly immediately felt relieved at hearing.

A relief that dissolved into confusion the moment the witch's lips lifted in the smallest of smiles. "Brittany." She informed him, nodding a couple of times without moving away from Isaac; she still remained as weak as the boy on the couch to move away.

He could nod, though, and he did, taking a breath and exhaling it in a puff of exhaustion before he gulped and placed his slowly moving hand against his stomach. "Thanks for getting me out of there, Brittany." He simply said, suddenly and welcomingly highly aware of the fact that Allison, Scott and Lydia were all looking at him, and the girl in Isaac's arms, as if they were speaking some other language between themselves. But whatever question remained across their features erased intently the moment his lips ticked onto the smallest attempts of a smile as his eyes began watering upon the remaining image of his friends. "I'm really glad you're alive." He said.

That was all it took for Lydia's hand fall on his free one with a breath of relief and Scott's on his shoulder with a reassuring squeeze. "We're glad _you_ are alive." Scott told him, the tension that had been building up against his shoulders disappearing right at that moment.

As Brittany's strength returned, her eyes lifted to meet with Isaac's, who rather awkwardly stopped smiling and stepped back from his hold; a hold she boldly stopped from parting not only because she wasn't fully ready to stand on her own without falling towards the nearest seat, but because she found it as much comforting as supportive. "Hey, at least you caught me this time, tall guy." She teased, making Isaac's eyes widen for the shortest of moments before rolling in feigned annoyance toward the familiar smirk that crossed her lips; one that he easily welcomed along with the snark that escaped them.

It was a lightness that only lasted a few minutes before, without Isaac's support, Brittany walked in Stiles' direction to nod toward the arch that would lead toward her front door. "We should go." She told him and the other around them, looking at Lydia, Scott and Allison one by one before daring to continue. "He needs to be taken to a hospital before the wound starts bleeding too badly again."

It was all that needed to be said before Lydia and Scott both helped Stiles up from the couch to do as the witch had suggested. Any trace of the demon that had haunt him gone with the fire that had dissolved it.

**To Be Continued.**


	28. Chapter 28: Apologies For The Disorder

_**~Two days later~ **_

His eyes had been focused elsewhere, on the glass of which gentle drops of rain lowered in tears until they crashed against the frame of the window, his body rested upon the comforting mattress of the hospital bed while his newly bandaged arm relaxed gently against the sheets that covered his surgically fixed and stitched stomach. He had specifically requested that, if possible, his fan was turned off (a fact that one of the two nurses had considered demanding, but that Melissa McCall instantly understood), so the silence that surrounded him came as welcome as it came with dread; for, within that silence Stiles Stilinski could so easily hear the memory echoes of the third kill he had consciously performed, the clicking of the rain drops on the warehouse's ceiling that were so easily mirrored by the ones hitting against the window at that moment. He could hear it as clearly as if he were there, and it made the pain upon his heart creep easier into his being; behind his eyelids, the pale colour of the light brought forth in the shade of the girl's skin, only tainted slowly by the red that followed shortly after, because he... he had...

There was a knock on the door that made him jump and flinch upon the pain such a movement brought along his stomach, using his free hand to touch the sore spot as if that alone were to make it go away; but it wouldn't, obviously, something he rapidly hid with a lift of his lips the moment the nurse on call announced that he had a visitor. For a moment, Stiles had expected his father, though for the short chance that he was resting at home, he hoped it wasn't; he had, after all, spent the entire two days since Stiles' arrival to the hospital right by his son's side. _Screw them if they won't let me spend a bit of time with my son, who's been missing for more than half a month. _He told him, and so he had done.

But, this time, it wasn't the lately smiley old man; it was a face Stiles hadn't seen since the day he had opened his eyes as himself once again; a face he hadn't truly seen alone for more than the three weeks. "Lydia." He said, wishing upon his strength to lift his frame a little further onto a sitting position, as the strawberry blonde smiled in his direction, big dirty orange purse hanging from the inside of her elbow and a flower-filled dress adorning her frame in a colour pallet to easily match. "Hey." He greeted, gulping back the bile that rose at the memory of hurting her, and much worse at the images of the death that intruder had planted inside his mind and appeared everytime he closed his eyes.

"You've got two hours, sweetheart." The dark skinned nurse told Lydia, making her turn with the smallest of polite smiles to paint across her features. "The sheriff's gonna be back then, and he's only allowed one visitor at a time."

"Okay, thank you." Lydia nodded shortly, and with another smile, and a nod of her head, the nurse slipped out of the room and closed the door behind her, leaving the strawberry blonde to turn around and face her boyfriend with a bigger version of the smile she had offered the nurse. "Hey, you." She said, closing the short distance from the door to Stiles' bed before motioning toward an empty space beside his hips. "Would it hurt you if I sat there?" She asked, allowing her frame to move forward once the amber eyed boy shook his head with that same greeting grin across his lips.

A grin that only dared disappear once she was settled with one crossed leg under her and the other hanging from the bed while her hand trapped his good one in a gentle hold. "Is everyone okay?" He asked, looking at their entwined digits before lifting his eyes to look with concern into hers. "Are _you_ okay?"

Lydia's eyes studied him, carefully and slowly as a scoffed breath escaped from her lips, her head shaking and making the ends of her long strawberry blonde locks dance with the motion. "I'm the one supposed to be asking you that."

Of course, Stiles' eyes rolled in a small motion that did not invite him to move too much. "I'm laying on a hospital bed, I think it's automatically clear that I'm _not _okay." He stated, gifting the girl with a rather forced twist of a smirk that did nothing but will her to roll her eyes in a motion much to mirror his.

Regardless, she nodded. "Fine, sorry I asked." With a playful motion she dropped the hand that didn't hold his until it slapped against her thigh. "But..." For a short moment she let go of his hand, reaching with both limbs into her purse, rummaging inside until she looked up at her curious boyfriend once again. "I do hope this will make you feel better." She admitted, allowing her hands to lift in a light motion to show the boy the stuffed white, blue and gray droid that they carried; a motion that only lit up Stiles' features in a genuinely surprised expression.

A short laugh escaped him, broken and cut only due to the pain that it brought him as the muscles of his abdomen contracted. "Oh, R2D2!" He recognised, taking the stuffed toy from her hands with both of his, though careful with his bandaged one, until it rested against the bottom of his chest, inches away from the bandages. "You bought this for me?" He asked, frowning shortly even if the smile across his lips remained.

"No, I thought it'd look gorgeous on top of my mahogany desk." Lydia replied with a snarky tone, her head shaking until she'd moved to place her purse on the chair closest to the bed. "Yes, of course I bought it for you." She sat back down and watched as the boy's good hand squeezed the material until a clearly unexpected droid chirp echoed around the room, making his face light up with tired surprise as he looked up at her and another broken and breathed laugh escaped him.

"This is great." He admitted with an equally tired nod squeezing other parts of the toy to test out how fluffy it was, only this time he didn't dare look in her direction again. "Thank you." She nodded; a fact he only witnessed with the corner of his eye. He focused on the white and blue material of the toy, bobbing it a couple of times on his chest before simply staring at it with a lost gaze; that was exactly when the tiny cloud of tension that had been hovering above their heads grew until it covered the whole ceiling. The air was heavy, much like the silence that echoed louder along their breaths; louder by the words they did not speak, by the words he thought upon uttering. Much more when Stiles' good hand so hesitatingly reached for one of Lydia's, who so easily took it and entwined their fingers together with a soft sigh released though her nose and a press of her lips that tightened on a line.

A few minutes passed, nothing but their breaths and the screaming of their thoughts echoing like wails around them, his eyes fixated on the toy, yet focused on something further away from him brought forth by the bright hue of Lydia's hair, _But we can't always get what we want, can we? _It had said through Stiles' lips, and the boy had felt the hard impact of his fist against her temple; so strong, so easily knocking her out, seeing a prickle of blood slip from the top of her forehead after hitting the corner of her kitchen's island. He hadn't reached to help her, he had only screamed inside his own head. "Stiles?" Lydia's voice pulled him away from the horrible reverie he had slipped into, and the boy's eyes blinked repeatedly until a gulp pushed back the fiery reminder of what he had done.

He didn't realise he was even crying until he sniffed and had to lower the stuffed toy to his side to carefully wipe away the tears that had stained his cheeks. "I thought you were here to break up with me." He admitted, resting his head on the pillow and taking Lydia's one hand with both of his. "I wouldn't have blamed you if you did."

To this, the strawberry blonde frowned. "Why would I do that?" She wondered, her eyes searching his features with a strange hope that the answer to such a question hid somewhere in his expression.

She was much more confused when a scoffed breath escaped through his lips in a puff. "After what I did to you, you still have to ask?" His head shook, releasing a shaky sigh; upon a press of his eyes he could see the clear image of her death that thing had implanted in his mind.

_Just squeeze her throat tighter, don't listen to her pleas, they don't matter. Listen to her last breath, listen to it Stiles. _"It wasn't you." Lydia said, making the memory of its voice within his mind puff like the cloud of smoke it had been at the beginning; the feeling of her hand holding tighter onto his making the palpable sensation of the cold blood upon his fingertips fade away into the warmth of her touch. "None of it was you."

Once again, Stiles' head was shaking, tiredly, and with the guilt he carried mirroring along each movement. "Oh, but it was." He said, forcing out a feigned amused chuckle upon the goal to bury his own torment under the waves of pushed jest. "Maybe not with you, but..." He nodded now, mind completely lost within the trickling of the droplets that hit against the window, once and again and again until he could easily pretend he was the one sitting on the chair in the middle of the warehouse. _The second time came easy; the second time it taunted him into killing an innocent girl Stiles had not even felt the nausea from the first time._ "...but it _was _me sometimes." _He had liked it. _And now their very image haunted his dreams, once and again and again until he couldn't sleep without the aid of pills.

And that was only two days after everything had come to an end.

"What do you mean?" Lydia wondered; of course she did. His girlfriend, the girl he had idolised since the fourth week of third grade, the girl he had loved from the moment he saw everything she hid behind that idiot-girl mask that she fooled everyone with. Of course she wanted to know what he meant; how could she not? The last time they had seen each other before the crash she had confessed her growing affections.

Of course she wanted to know.

But his head shook, slowly, tiredly as another gulp pushed down the knot that had formed in the middle of his throat. _I killed them. _He wanted to say, _even when I wasn't in control I could feel my hands doing it. _"There was a moment during those... weeks while I was gone..." _And when I was in control, I enjoyed it; _he thought,_ not the deaths, but the power they gave me, the control __**it**_ _gave me. _"...that he threatened to kill you all; and I did anything it asked of me." _I killed two girls on my own volition. _"I guess I could say it forced me, but..." _But it didn't, not the second time; it only threatened me and I didn't think twice. _"...but it's no excuse; I did monstrous things." Stiles never felt more like monster than he did at that very moment; his thoughts ran in one and a million directions, guilt, sorrow, fear, worry, agony and torture were only a few sentiments crowding his insides. They made him jumpy, tired, scared of closing his eyes for the fear of another memory resurfacing so vividly as it did regardless of if he was awake. _I killed two girls. _

The tightening of Lydia's hand on his made him frown, blink away his whispering thoughts and look directly at her with the same sort of curiosity that she had looked at him with only moments prior. "Stiles, I _heard_ you yelling for me." She easily told him, forcing her eyes to lift so they could meet with his own watery orbs in a gaze she only wished to be comforting; focusing her grip on only the hand that did not remain bandaged to avoid any additional pain he could possibly be feeling. "I _heard_ your warnings inside my head, and I didn't listen."

His head had started shaking again. "Lydia, it's not your—"

"No, that's now why I'm saying that." She interrupted him, lifting one hand to shush him without letting the other let go; shaking her own head with a silent encouragement for him to remain quiet and simply listen to what she wanted to tell him. "I heard your warnings, and I didn't listen." She repeated, lowering her hand without stopping the near-glare that she gifted the boy with. "But I _heard_ them, Stiles." She finally nodded, her eyes dancing upon his with the communication she wished to achieve. "You _warned_ me that something was wrong, and no monster would have done that." And so Stiles understood; and the amber of his orbs glistened with the building waterfalls that threatened to clean them from their darkened sight. "I believe you, I'm sure you truly did do some horrible, terrible, monstrous things under that thing's influence, but you are _not _a monster."

Would she say the same thing if she knew of what he'd done? Could he one day think the same as her? They were questions that beat around his brain among the other million thoughts that brought upon that tired reminder of a headache and the unnoticed tears to slip silently in gentle trails against his skin. "Plus." Lydia continued, though her tone was different, lighter, attempting upon a goal that _he _had always been the one to try for his best friend, for his father, for the girl herself; a near jestful note to bring along a smile, a scoffed laugh, any sign that the world wasn't exactly coming to an end, even if it felt like it was. "I dated a Kanima once, I think I can handle an ex-demon."

He did smile, but within the confines of his mind all he could see were the twisted pleading expressions of the Heather look-a-likes, the expression on his friends' face when he had killed them in those implanted memories, his father's own fearfully twisted visage as he came at him with a knife and stabbed him twenty times, again and again as it forced a wave of laughter out of Stiles' lips. He could see every single horror he had forced upon someone, anyone, even the girl who had taken him out of his own mind; the witch, Brittany. "Well, I can only hope you think I'm better than a lizard man." He smiled, and he joked, now more than ever, even through the tired haze his life had suddenly become within solely two days of intensive care and visits from his father and Scott, because the horror and pain he hid within was greater than it had ever been. Greater than his father's drunken benders, greater than the fear of losing Scott after some werewolf battle, greater than the fear that Peter was going to kill the girl he deemed the love of his life had drowned him in, greater even than the slow torture that seeing his mother slowly go crazy until death had been.

He would move forward, he would attempt embarking on a mental quest in which one day he could close his eyes without seeing the horrors he had caused. "Who knows, maybe one day I'll think black eyes were cooler than a tail." Lydia continued on, making Stiles' lips force upon a wider smile and a gentle tighten of his hold.

_Yeah, _he thought. _And maybe one day I'll be able to live with the thought that I almost killed every single one of the people I loved. _

Who knew how far away that day was?

**To Be Continued.**


	29. Chapter 29: Things In Common

"_You need to come with me!" Brittany so urgently called in Stiles' direction, her hand stretched toward him and her bright blue orbs focusing completely on his wary disposition. She had known such had been the fate of the end of the spell, the moment the demon had gone had become the moment her job ensued upon the continuation of Scott and Lydia's; she had to get him out of there. Brittany had never met this kid, not once, but whatever arguments the wolf and the banshee had used on him seemed to have worked, because whatever spark of fear that crossed upon his features upon seeing her... it was for survival._

_It's why it wasn't much of a surprise when the boy's amber orbs focused on her with outmost suspicion. "Where are Scott and Lydia?" He asked, looking around the slowly crumbling empty white nothingness that carried within a darkness with each rock that fell around them. A room, a white endless room with white stone floors and white walls that slowly and with crumbling sounds fell apart second by second. "What did you do to them?" His hand remained extended in her direction, stopping her approach as much as he was able to by taking steps back without falling toward the path of his crumbling surroundings. _

_They __had__ to get out of there. "They are waiting for you." Brittany urged, her accented tone echoing loudly against the crumbling echoes, pointing in the direction of the only one door in the room. "They are alive and waiting for you. You are free from the demon's grasp, Stiles, you __need__ to get out of here or you will stay stuck inside your own mind!" A hand and arduous breeze started, picking up and playing with the blue eyed girl's hair; the room's slowly breaking brightness gave her already pale skin a strange nearly celestial glow. _

_But __who__ was she? "How do I know you're not just another trick brought by it?" Stiles asked, watching as her head shook once and again, his short hair flying with the wind along with the shirt he wore; his eyes flicked toward the door at the end of the room; a door he hadn't much noticed, black against the contrast of the white that surrounded them. _

"_Why would it show you someone you've never met?" She asked, making his eyes return to her only to see her hands twisting to show her palms in a show of surrender. And she could see, even feet away, where she stood, the way her words sank in deeper and deeper into the boy's mind, turning once and again upon the many possibilities that he had literally no possible time to decipher and consider due to the crumbling room around them; it was almost nothing but the floor they stood on and a narrow bridge toward the door. "I'll go in with you, alright?" Wasn't it obvious that such was the plan? "If I were leading you into your death then I wouldn't offer to throw myself in." She stepped closer, listening to the creaking marble under her feet; to her surprise, Stiles' eyes narrowed with suspicion, and all the witch had left was to explain every single detail of what was happening at that very moment. Why hadn't she told Lydia or Scott that they might have to let him know she was coming? "Listen to me, Stiles!" He turned to look at her again after a repeated short flick in the door's direction. "I'm the one that helped your friends rid you of that thing, you're __alone__ inside your mind right now, I'm just here to help, but you're in __control__, I can't force you out of here, and if you don't get out, if you let every single wall around us crumble down, you will __die__." She forced her eyes to remain on his, urging the determination of her words on him. "You will stay trapped in your mind forever, and you will __never__ get out, you will never wake up, your heart will continue to beat, but your brain won't work, and you __will__ die. We __both__ will." _

_The door at the end of the breaking bridge opened, bringing forth the brightest of lights in an illuminating hold around them, making their mirrored arms lift with the hopes of covering their eyes from the unwelcome brightness; a brightness that made the boy loose his balance enough to start tumbling backwards toward the growing void. Of course, not even a second later, the tight hold of a pale hand balling on his shirt pulled him back toward the safety of the remaining floor, and his wide and scared amber orbs met worried blues inches away from him; it seemed to be all he needed to speak once again, jaded breaths echoing along his words. "Alright, get me out of here." Frantic nods encouraged her, and a retaliating motion was all that followed before they were running. _

_Her hand gripped around his wrist, pushing forward and pulling the boy with her until they both stood side to side facing the wide open door; the echoes of breaking walls tooted once and again around them, slowly but gradually growing in speed, coming closer and closer behind their backs. But, even then their gazes met for a short moment, encouragement from her side and fear from his, but a nod that was shared between them both before, without daring to think twice about it, they jumped into the blinding light inside the door._

_Within the blinding whiteness there was a sound, the whispering of an echo that felt wrong to Brittany; everything else had been familiar, exactly as she remembered it, but now there was a repeating sound that bothered her enough _to wake up with the gasp of a breath escaping from parted lips in jaded intakes, wide blue orbs switching back and forth as she looked at her surroundings; the paleness of her walls, the red single couch sitting across from her, where the very boy from her memory had rested and asked for her name upon their wake; the artistic vintage coffee table resting between her and the familiar red seat, the television set that echoed with the recorder laughter from the comedy show she seemed to have fallen asleep to, the white material of a cushion resting under her face.

The echo of the knocking on the door.

She was in her own home, many days after the memory she had dreamed of had happened, no danger, no nothing but the continuous knocking on her door. "Coming!" She called with the roughness of sleep singing within her words, and her frame attempting to stand from its resting place with as much steadiness as she could, careful enough not lean on the bandaged arm while she did so. Her knee knocked on the edge of the coffee table, making the hiss of a cuss escape her lips as she walked forward and down the little hall until she was in any way able to open the door; then she nearly stared. "Isaac?"

It had only been a few days, but still, she had not at all expected to see him standing at her door; granted, the wolf was her neighbour, and they had waved once or twice across their window, and more than a few times texted, but not one of the pack members had been at school (she even wondered why _she_ bothered with it after being so mentally exhausted), and with this being the first time they were face to face (without counting the times on their windows while texting), well, Brittany was bound to be surprised. "Hey, can I come in?"

To say she was worried at the candid request from the blue eyed boy would be to truly put it lightly; it seemed Isaac was more than capable of texting her if he wished to speak to her – something she silently preferred for the simple fact that she _didn't _know what he was going to say before he worded it –, but instead of doing as such, instead of throwing something at her window, or texting her to have a window conversation, for whatever subject he wished to speak to her about, he had decided to come downstairs, walk out of his home and knock on her door. "Of course." She said, wishing upon her own curiosity control to stop herself from searching the beta's mind for all the answers and stepping aside whilst motioning within her home with a hand; her eyes followed the curly haired boy even as she moved to close the door behind him. "Is everything alright?"

Only a few steps inside, Isaac turned around to look at her, eyebrows raised and posture as confident as he could master it. "Uh, yeah." He nodded, lifting a hand to scratch at the back of his neck for a couple of seconds, thoughts upon thoughts drowning his mind with the content of what he hoped to speak to her about. "Everything is fine, uh, I mean, Stiles is still in the hospital, but..." He frowned, lowering his limb until the palm of his hand had crashed against the side of his thigh and a shrug had lifted his shoulders shortly. "I just wanted to come talk to you about something."

"Oh." Brittany's own eyebrows shot up for a moment whilst a flutter of her lids attempted to clear out her mind and the rather forced press of a smile illuminated her lips. "Well, let's chat, then." She prompted, motioning forward once again in the direction of the living room, where the soft echoes of recorded laughter from the show she'd been watching tooted against the walls; sounds soon after cut off by the pressing of a button upon the remote. "Can I get you anything to drink?" She wondered, reaching for the blanket she had been resting under and folding it to leave the big couch free for sitting down.

Isaac's eyes pried away from the red single couch; it was the first time since _that _day that he saw it, and though he did want to respect the girl's personal space bubble, he would rather stand than sit on the place where he saw such horrors go down. "Uh, no. No, thanks." His head shook, steps leading him away from the personally thought haunted seat and forcing the lift of a smile across his lips as he stepped further into the room that looked so peaceful and in order that, had he not been there during the ritual, he would have never known something so powerful and evil had been destroyed inside it. "You like Friends?" It seemed his mind and his lips had different mindsets; his nerves ruled his insides, and it seemed as if he wanted to prolong the subject he had gone to inquire about that day.

Mind reader or not, Brittany O'Brien wouldn't have missed it. Still, as she sat on the couch and gently patted the empty space beside her, her eyes flicked in the direction of the newly turned off set. "It's a great show; I'd be surprised if anyone told me they didn't like it." She admitted, looking back in Isaac's direction, who was slowly and rather nervously sitting on the couch by her side; her knees a whole hand's length away from brushing.

Still, his head bobbed in an agreeing nod that pushed as nervous as the breathed chuckle that escaped him did. "I don't think I've ever met someone who didn't like it." He admitted, palms pressing against his jeans whilst his mind tumbled and fumbled around the idea of what he'd gone to the girl's house for in the first place. Why had he allowed his forced upon confidence to lead him in her direction if he was going to chicken out at the last moment?

Her eyes were studying him, dancing on his features as if each sift of his lips, every blink, gave way to a tell-tale sign of what he wished to speak about, and it made a small pressed smile to illuminate her features. "We both know you didn't come here to talk about a show on telly." The familiar taint of her knowing smirk lifted her lips minutely, and Isaac's own grin mirrored hers from the recognition of the motion. "I don't need to be able to read your mind to know something is bothering you, tall guy." She announced, shifting her frame to the side enough to lift a leg to cross it under her, making the gap between their knees only inches; words upon which Isaac's own brims pressed onto a line for a short two seconds before they parted in nervous pause. "What is it?"

After his eyes blinked a couple of moments, Isaac nodded. "Alright." He said, fixing his position on the couch to face her too; this time the movement left no space whatsoever between their knees. "I was talking myself out of this earlier, but..." His head shook shortly, and his forehead wrinkled with the frown brought upon his inability to conjoin his thoughts in enough order to form coherent words. "I guess, firs of all, I wanted to actually thank you, face to face, for what you did for the pack." He started, watching her lips lift in a rather genuine grin that confirmed the correct decision of beginning with such a motion. "We all doubted you, and you could have told us to piss off because of it, but you didn't, so..." He nodded, blinking repeatedly once again along the lift of a shoulder to attempt pushing the awkwardness that he felt dripping at the edge of his words within the idea of his continuing subject. "I'm sure the others will tell you the same, but I guess this is me thanking you outside of a text message."

With her blue orbs searching his own, Brittany nodded and allowed the grin to remain across her lips, lifting the other leg to cross under her as she learned sideways upon the backrest of her sofa. "I only wanted to help." She admitted whilst reaching for the white cushion her head had been resting on moments prior and setting it upon her lap, resting her arms against it. "I'm solely thankful that I was able to do so with no casualties." She was aware of his eyes studying her upon the silence that followed, she was aware of his senses catching onto her heart, his attention solely on her and his mind beating once and again around the possibility of a path and wording that would lead him safely into the secondary, and apparently more personal matter that he wished to converse about. "Isaac, you can talk to me." She encouraged him after a few moments, the seriousness of his demeanour encouraging for the use of his name as she reached the short distance to rest a kind hand against his own with the hopes to rid him from any and every doubt that tainted his mind; personal, instead of toward her at all. Though by every single sign on his attitude and nervousness, the witch had a very good and fearful idea of exactly what the wolf wanted to talk about, she still felt slightly relaxed upon its outcome when the boy's own limb twisted until his digits had enclosed hers in a gentle hold that he felt as much strange as he did reassuring.

How could he possibly approach the subject? How could he bring the familiarity of her earlier life's situation up without tainting the atmosphere around them with a horrible sense of remembrance and doom that he wished to rid the girl from? How could he ask the questions he wished he didn't have to so that his mind rested peacefully with his own desires? The answer was: he couldn't. "I..." It was the gentle smile on her lips that made him wish upon the disappearance of his inquiring mind, but the push within his own hopes that willed him to continue so that a mutual understanding could be reached about the familiarity of torturous memories that the two did not have to share on their own. "During the ritual I saw some things I didn't fully understand..." He started, gulping back the nervous knot that had formed in the middle of his throat due to the nearly invisible frown that pushed her brows to a furrow. "About your past and what that thing told you." He was not at all surprised to see the grin in her lips slowly dissipating along with the breath that got stuck before its release and the spike of her heart against her ribcage; it almost made him wish to stop, to let go of her hand and stand from the couch to make the urgent exit that would lead the two to never speak again thanks to the awkwardness he would leave behind.

The thing was... he didn't exactly want that.

"I still don't understand why you trusted me with it..." He continued, admitting to the biggest curiosity that had drowned him from the moment he had left her home that day.

Brittany understood, and it showed within the soft movements of her head that pushed along a nod and the press of her lips in a tight line before they parted to release a soft sigh. "But since I did, you'd like to understand what you saw." She completed his thought before looking up into his curious, yet kind orbs with the wish of a confirmation.

A confirmation she easily got with his hurried utterance to follow seconds later. "I would understand if you didn't want to explain." He admitted, shaking his head shortly and pressing a squeeze of her hand with the smallest reassurance. "It's none of my business, after all, if you want me to piss of, and—"

"No, no, I..." She interrupted with a shake of her head, a press of her own to comfort him for a second and a forced grin to light her features. "If I was in your position I would want answers too." She admitted, looking into his eyes and making the smallest hints of a grin to lift the corners of her lips. "I have to confess to something first, though, before you ask anything, and I _will_ answer." It was his concern that she replied to, his own personal doubts that she dissipated before they took a proper hold of his mind in one way or another, because she could see within pondering clouds the loudest inquiry, the one he had so poorly worded without truly asking for an explanation; and, to Brittany, the easiest to reply. "I didn't know what the demon was going to show me." She said, head shaking for a short instance. "Or _if _it was going to, I only took the precaution that happened to not come unfounded. And I trusted you because your bond with Stiles, though strong, is not as strong as Allison's. If I had chosen her, then the demon would have caught the link I made and blinded _her _as well as me." She explained, her eyes dancing on his own as if solely like that she would be able to physically read his reactions. "But the link with you was safe, of course." Rather mindlessly, her hand moved away from his until it rested atop her arm, right on the place where the bandage was so normally holding together the deep wound and burn that adorned it.

All Isaac could do was nod, a curtain of understanding wrapping around his mind to dissipate any and every hint of doubt that befell upon him. It made sense; he wouldn't pretend to be sad or surprised at the revelation that his bond to Stiles was the weaker of the four in the pack. They were friends, yes, they could work together if needed be, and he _would_ give his life if it meant saving him, but... well, compared to Lydia, Scott and Allison... it was maybe nothing. "So what did you want to know?" She asked breaking his mind from his minute realisation and forcing along a clear of his throat that made his hands start picking at the edge of the cushion beside him.

Wording out his inquiries, that was the hardest part. How could he put in words what he wondered without sounding rude, or mean, or... wrong? She understood that he wanted answers, but it didn't mean he had any right to ask the questions; not really. "Well, I..." He blinked, his head tilting to the side with guilt, but his eyes dancing upon her own bright blues with the slowly building will to ask his inquiries. "There was something it said about your immortality." He started, realising, for the manner in which her heartbeat picked once again, and her eyes closed to a press of a soft touch of her lashes against the top of her cheeks, that he realised such was most likely the very last thing she had wanted him to inquire about; but the nod of her head merely minutely encouraged him to continue. "Then that girl in the room..." He could still see it as if it were his own memory, broken by the other side of the situation that he was aware of; Brittany's green gown, the dusty floors, the knife, the blood...

"I killed her." Brittany admitted with a nod, wishing upon the clear of a memory that mixed with her own that so easily made the pain within her heart scorch deeper; her eyes opened, glistening with the tears that wished to form at the corner of her eyes and understanding the awareness from the wolf about the relation between her and the girl on the bed. "Yes, she was my daughter." She admitted, fluttering blinks that freed a couple of tears down her cheeks and the gulp that forced down the knot that had taken home in the middle of her throat. She lifted a hand to press the sleeves of her red sweater against her cheeks to rid them from the treacherous tears. _Why?_ Isaac thought with more than just that word, wondering what could have led Brittany to kill her daughter upon understanding her love for the girl regardless of her parentage as he remembered from what he had seen and heard. _Why so long? Why, if you loved her, did you end her life? What does that have to do with you immortality?_ Many unspoken inquiries that were more visualised and felt than truly thought, only understandable for the witch due to her gift and experience. She had to breathe, to close her eyes once again for a short moment before clearing her throat with the hopes of conjuring the courage to speak of a past so recently re-lived that the hole it had left centuries upon centuries ago felt as fresh as if it had been done only days prior. "She was sick." Brittany started, pulling the blanket she'd folded before, closer until it covered her legs. "She had a horrid difficulty breathing, she started... fainting when she was only two. She suffered so much." She gulped, forcing herself to lift her gaze to meet Isaac's, who was listening intently whilst still picking at the edges of the white cushion. "I didn't come to learn this until many centuries later, but due to the fact that she was..."—she frowned, forcing inside a breath that would push down the knot that formed in the middle of her throat once again—"...that she was my father's, her immune system was low, her organs were weak, Annabelle lived the six years of her life suffering and guarded. Not even my abilities could cure her." She paused, lowering her eyes upon a blink to look at her own hands; mirroring his own actions and picking mindlessly at the edge of her own cushion. "After my father's death I ran to a neighbouring village; there were healers, but the tenth century wasn't that good at medicine, it's a miracle I didn't die at childbirth, like my own mother did.

Upon Annabelle's sixth birthday, though, her condition worsened." Brittany continued, nodding slowly, seeing the face of her little beautiful Annabelle behind closed eyelids. "She couldn't even leave her bed, she couldn't eat much, she couldn't... all she did was cry because she was in pain. And I couldn't stand it, to see her suffering so horribly broke my heart." She opened her eyes once again, feeling the warm trail of her tears betray her feelings as they fell on a splash against the material of her sweater. "But I was young, a big part of me loved her solely because she was my daughter, but another part loathed her because she was my father's as well." Her head shook. "It was that second part of me that made me feel like I couldn't let her die in vain; it made me selfish, it made me seek out texts of the darkest of witchcrafts with what the better side of me expected to be a way to fix _her_, but instead of that I found something to fix myself.

A potion." She explained, looking up into Isaac's eyes once again, reading the compassion, the understanding, the curiosity and the expectation all through those water orbs and what little he expressed about it in his mind. "It was a very difficult and rather dark potion that required the heart and the blood from someone who had a part of my own heart and soul. So I did it." She shrugged, holding tighter to the cushion on her lap and gulping back the bile that rose up at the memory made resent by the demon and Isaac's own mind. "I realised death would be the only way to make my Annabelle be at peace, so I killed her and used her blood and her heart for the potion that made me immortal." Her eyes fell to her hands; a rather failed attempt at hiding the tears that slipped down her cheeks quietly. There was a sob building up in her throat, but she held it back, she gulped it down and pressed her lips onto a tight line; yet, as she sniffed, the feeling of Isaac's warm hand on top of her own made her lips part and a breath gently enter her lungs in a long inhale, her eyes opened, and her lids fluttered in quick blinks that attempted to rid her eyes of any tear that wanted to fall until her free hand moved to wipe away the sorrowful drops. "I was young." She repeated as she brought down her hand and sniffed again. "I believed I wanted to make up for the life my father stole from me as much as the one he gifted me with; Annabelle was hurting, I saw a way out, so I just..."—her eyes looked up, right into his, glassy and brilliant from the tears they had shed.—"...I just did it. Sort of like with you and the bite." She confided, blue orbs dancing on Isaac's own in search of an understanding she was rather glad to have easily found right after. "I wanted to feel like I could be more than just my father's little object, I wanted to escape my past, I wanted to prove to myself that I was able to not allow what my father did to me dictate my life." She gulped, her eyes falling as the curls of her hair brushed against the skin of her cheeks upon the movement. "I wanted to prove to myself that I was strong on my own, that the little scared girl that allowed that man beat her, and rape her and... hurt her so horribly had only been a part of me that knew nothing better than to accept what she was dealt with and nothing more.

I wanted to stop being my father's victim." She admitted, and though tears still stained her cheeks there was a fierceness in her voice that made Isaac understand so much more about her, nor only for the manner in which her words echoed upon his own past, but because she had been able to take a step much further and much stronger, and he could hear that; he could see the way she held herself, and many of her reactions to him and her surroundings made much more sense; like the moment she pushed away from him so suddenly during the tour of the school, or her offensive stance when he'd asked if the fate of her parents' death had rested on her hands –she had been fighting against that idea for centuries, it seemed, and Isaac had so easily crumpled it with a question–, or when she'd given him those looks in understanding that he never saw a reason for.

Until now.

How could he possibly explain that, though? How could he word it all well enough for Brittany to see exactly just how well he understood the demon's own use of words, the reason for those memories to be the ones to torture her with, how could he possibly conjoin speech that could contain enough emotion and truth to carry the weight of the understanding he felt? There wasn't; so instead of speaking, he moved, closing the gap between the two until his arms could wrap around her frame, doubtful upon the contact at first solely due to what it could mean to her; would it be uncomfortable? But she didn't pull away, instead she wrapped her arms around him too and buried her face on his shoulder, allowing herself to hold onto him with hopes of conveying her own understanding upon his own situation. "It's okay." Isaac told her, gracing her back with his hand, picking up his own emotions through her own embrace. "That demon was wrong, you're not your dad's victim anymore." He reassured her. "And whatever you did, it's in the past, and the past can't be changed, nor should it matter; what matters is what you _do _and who you are _now_." He brushed her hair, wondering where exactly those words had come from. "Trust me, if it mattered we'd all have told Peter Hale to screw himself long ago."

To that, through images in his head and his words, Brittany chuckled, pulling away from him, but not too far, because there was a grin upon her own lips that encouraged her to speak her mind, her hands resting on his back. "You aren't either, you know that, right?" She said, eyes dancing on his own in search for the belief she wanted to see there. "I can tell you're very important to the pack, you're your own person, you're..." The hint of a scoffed breath escaped through her lips, her head shook gently from side to side. "You're so bloody strong and I don't think you even reali—" But she couldn't finish her words, because what felt like out literally nowhere Isaac's lips were on her own and his arms were around her again.

She didn't pull away, nor did he; instead she kissed back, she pulled the beta closer and tangled her fingers in his hair, each other's support becoming evident within their closeness, and all the words they didn't speak floating above their heads understandable to each other. That was the first day both of them had someone who understood them completely.

And the day Brittany O'Brien saved Stiles' life turned into the very day that she became part of the McCall pack.

**To Be Continued.**


	30. Chapter 30: Epilogue

_**~Two Weeks Later~**_

His steps took him forward calmly, carefully and rather slowly compared to his usual quickness, but there was a goal pushing him forward; a goal that broke upon completely the moment he noticed them, and with a look over that who he could only identify as Allison's shoulder, Lydia Martin looked at him. "Stiles?" He couldn't hear her, due to the distance from his Jeep to the table, but everyone looked over at him, Isaac, Allison, and Brittany turned around on their seats to do so, and Lydia almost immediately got up from her seat and bridged the gap between them with quick steps until she was able to carefully throw her arms around his neck to give him a hug that only softly made him wince from the weak feeling on his stomach

"Ow, ow, still fragile, still fragile." He joked when the full force of her frame crashed against him, yet the smile across his lips was there; merely a ghost of it, but it remained as he decided to ignore such a feeling in order to turn in place with his arms around her; a motion only broken by her feet touching the floor once again and leading her an inch or two away. But he didn't let her go far; one hand remained on her waist whilst the other rested on the place where her jaw became her neck, and he tilted her face upward so he could press a gentle kiss to her lips, the pad of his thumb caressing the silk like skin of her cheek. "Surprised to see me?" He asked once they pulled away, allowing the pads of his digits to brush against her long strawberry blonde locks whilst that ghost of a smile remained across haunted lips.

It didn't take long for Lydia to nod. "Very surprised." After the horrible ordeal he had been through, and the mark it left behind, Lydia hadn't thought she would be seeing him at school any time in the near future; what else could she expect from such an aftermath? "But very happy, too." If such a thing wasn't evident from her expression and her demeanour, then she had to voice as such for her boyfriend, to leave it all clear, make it obvious, make him understand that regardless of what a possessed version of him had done, regardless of how much he blamed himself, she still felt the same, she still wanted him around, she still felt upon a heavy affection that could drown her if she let it; however, as much as she wished to spend the rest of the day in his arms the way they did under that tree's shadow in the recreation fields of the school, she had to realise that she wasn't the only one he was coming back to. "Come on." She urged, lowering her hands until she could nudge one of his into her hold and trying to hide the grin that threatened to form across her lips; and as she held onto her hand with that tired but familiar demeanour, Lydia led the boy toward the table, where the others had been watching them both.

Everyone stood up, and with absolutely no doubt, the moment Stiles' hand let go of Lydia's, it was to wrap his arms around his best friend. "How're you feeling?" Scott asked, making the boy have to smile over his failed attempts at taking any possible pain he might have due to the long sleeves of his hoodie.

"Better." He admitted, though truly, at such a situation and reality it was as close to the true as Stiles could get, but there was a smile across his tired lips that did not dare dissipate solely for the fact that he did not want his best friend worrying too much about him. "You?" They pulled away, amber orbs studying him as much as his browns dared study him right back.

Thankfully, Scott's hands fell and the smile that had befallen his lips became slightly wider. "So glad to have you back." He admitted, stepping aside after a pat on the pale boy's shoulder to allow his girlfriend, Allison, to wrap her arms around Stiles as well.

"Welcome back." She told him, stepping back after two seconds that allowed a couple of little dimples to adorn the middle of her cheeks in a grin that fully reached her eyes. "Had we known you'd be back today we might have gotten a cake or something." She admitted with a look in Lydia's direction, who only nodded with confirmation for a moment that made Stiles smile.

His head shook regardless of that smile across his lips, and a proving tick of his head to accompany his words only reassured everyone else of his return all the more. "And that's exactly why I didn't tell you." He jested, eyes shifting in the direction of the approaching blue eyed boy and mocking a shake of his head. "Uh uh, don't get any ideas, scarf-wolf, I'm not hugging you." He said, but still welcomed the pat on his shoulder that came from Isaac nonetheless.

"I wasn't expecting a welcome back hug anyway." He replied, stepping back and looking at the suddenly strangely shy Brittany O'Brien as she stepped beside him with a little grin in Stiles' direction; something the wolf only attempted to reassure with a hold of his hand on hers and a gentle press of his digits. "Stiles, you remember, Brittany, right?"

To this, the boy literally scoffed a feigned amused breath. "Do I remember—of course I remember her, Isaac, Jesus... come here." He motioned with a hand in the girl's direction; the blue eyed girl who had saved him, of course he remembered her. He most likely would do as such even if she hadn't visited him once in the hospital; and when she somewhat awkwardly stepped in his direction, Stiles did not even allow himself a second longer before he enclosed her in his arms; a moment that surprised him as much as it did her, but that slowly she was able to return with a hold of her own.

"It's good to see you up and round." She told him in that accent of hers, patting his back gently with the tips of her fingers. "Welcome back, Stiles."

Of course, only two seconds later he let her go, a grin across his lips as he looked down at her with thankful amber eyes. "Thank you." And with only those two words he said much more than a simple grateful gesture for her welcoming; with those two words he remembered for the millionth time everything he had done, everything he had believed he had done, and everything the witch seemed to have done to save him from it all; to say he was thankful to this girl was nothing but an understatement, and it was evident for the manner in which his mind filled with such thoughts as he nodded and followed Lydia around the table to sit beside her and Scott and across from Allison, Isaac and Brittany.

Of course Stiles Stilinski wasn't okay; though the ordeal with the black smoke had come to an end, the nightmares of what he had done continued, the jumpiness weeks later remained, but he pulled through. That day back in school with his friends was the first normal day he had had in months, and all he could do was enjoy it. He still saw a broken Lydia at the bottom of a lake as the demon had implanted it, when water ran down his hands there could be moments in which it flashed red just like the blood on the necks of the two girls he'd killed, his eyes lifted once and again whenever he drove down a long road to make sure no black smoke followed behind, in his dreams he was still the monster, he was still the one who had hurt many.

If there was one sure thing, it was that Stiles Stilinski simply would never be the same again.

But he would get through it; that day, sitting on that table minutes away from the school bell ringing, he didn't know it, but he would get through it all. He could grow stronger from what he had gone through, he would face danger with a confident strike brought upon the knowledge that he had been able to survive demons within in more ways than one; at that moment no one knew it, but Stiles would later on learn how to fight, he would ask the Argents for help for such a task, the pack would become stronger. At that moment they didn't know that his brain wouldn't be the only asset from his to compliment the pack, they didn't know that Brittany O'Brien would become an important part of it, or that months later Isaac would take the girl on her first real date, or that he would fall in love with her as much as she would fall in love with him, or that their lives had changed as they knew it from the moment they had met, or that they would spend the rest of Isaac's days together due to the fact that, at thirty years old, he would perish in a fight alongside the pack; they didn't know that Stiles and Lydia's relationship would become even stronger after all the ordeals, or that they would learn to work together once again through every possible aftermath of his personal nightmare, or that she would be one of the bigger reasons why strength had been the asset to come from the whole horror, or that they would go to college together, and she would grow to become the mathematician wife of Sheriff Stiles Stilinski; they didn't know that Allison would become the first huntress to create a brand new code that worked better for the sake of humanity, or that her relationship with Scott would be one of the main reasons why such a code would be exemplar, or that years later she would become a doctor and medical asset to the entire pack; they didn't know that two years later, after their first year of college, they would still be fighting tooth and nail against any and every creature that dared haunt their town.

They didn't know any of it; that day, Isaac, Allison, Scott, Lydia and Brittany, were only six friends celebrating the safe return of one of their own.

And everything was okay again.

**The End.**

* * *

**ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS:** Writing this story started as a simple means of keeping an RP storyline alive forever, yet, much as time would have it the family from which this started disappeared, and I was left to write things as how I imagined they would have gone. I played Brittany O'Brien and Stiles Stilinski, and was given free reign of the future of these characters; credit where it is due to Kyli Deann (Isaac Lahey and Melissa McCall), Brittany {We haven't talked in a long time so I don't remember her last name} (Allison Argent), and my best friend, Tiffany "Milkovich" (Lydia Martin), for helping along with the storyline as far as their characters came along. Much credit to Brittany herself for helping me with the making of Brittany O'Brien as far as species and role in the pack goes. She started off as a half demon named Melany Stonem (yes, the one from Dark Rapture, who was my creation 100%), and then realised that, due to the fact that Stiles was being possessed by a demon, the pack would not much trust a half-demon like her to help in any way. Thus Brittany (Allison) helped me make the girl as supernatural and as immortal as I wanted her to be whilst sticking to the possibilities to being trusted by the pack, and, thus, Brittany O'Brien was created. So thank you for that help, if you're reading this, and for helping me fixing along the plotholes that my mind wasn't able to put together. This story wouldn't exist without you and your great mind.

I would also like to thank Kily (Isaac) for encouraging me to write this story and reading along; we created Brisaac together, and though we came up with many headcanons for cute future parts of their relationship and weren't able to play them due to the plot of the story, I still loved writing their dynamic as much as I was able to. Thank you for creating this with me and allowing me the freedom of using your characters for the making of this story, and for giving me ideas when all seemed lost within my mind. Thank you, thank you. Brisaac will truly always be one of my favourite ships.

A very, **very** special thanks to my best friend, my Tommy, my Lydia: Tiffany wanna-be-Milkovich LMAO Because she was and is always there for me whenever I have a writer's block, or whenever we need to throw out headcannons about Stydia (among other things, because literal best friend), and I hope that, if you're reading this, you know that I love you and I thank you so much for everything you've done for me. I mean it when I say that if it weren't for your friendship and your talent as a writer I wouldn't have been able to finish this story at ALL and probably would have left it off mid-way. So thank you for being so amazing to me. Forever and ever and ever, my friend.

And, last but not least, thanks to the 10+ people who favourited this story and all those others who read it out of their own accord and review or anything of the sort, I am really proud of this story, and having you all read it and view it and anything at all makes me really happy and encouraged me to continue on. Thank you, thank you, thank you! I hope you all liked this as much as I did, and don't mind me if I pretend this is what happened in 3B instead of what actually happened. THANK YOU FOR EVERYTHING, THANK YOU, THANK YOU!


End file.
